


Shelter from the storm

by sad_eyed_lady_of_the_low_lands



Category: White Collar
Genre: Cannon compliant, Male OC - Freeform, basically how I'd want the show to be re-booted, neurodivergent OC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-05-03 17:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5299949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sad_eyed_lady_of_the_low_lands/pseuds/sad_eyed_lady_of_the_low_lands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was never a case of if the panthers broke out of prison and figured out he screwed them, it was a case of when the panthers broke out of prison and figured out he screwed them.<br/>Two years after the end of the show Neal Caffrey is living in France under the name Victor Moruau and Peter's running the devision.  Both of them are caught off guard by the sudden return of the pink panthers.<br/>(Aka all my favourite shows are getting reboots and I was sad that white collar was left out and wrote my own)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Neal sings softly to himself as he paints.

 

_“Suzanne takes you down, to her place near the river,_

_you can hear the boats go by you can spend the night beside her,_

_And you know that she’s half crazy, but that’s why you wanna be there,_

_And she feeds you tea and oranges that come all the way from china,_

_And just when you mean to tell her, that you have no love to give her-“_

 

Neal pauses momentarily and squeezes some more crimson on to his palette. 

 

_“And Jesus was a sailor, when he walked upon the water,_

_And he spent a long time watching from his lonely wooden tower, until he knew for certain only drowning men could see him,_

_Well he said all men shall be sailors then! Until the see shall free them! But he himself was broken long before-“_

 

“Jesus Christ Vicky can’t you sing something a little less depressing for once!”

The voice breaks Neal out of his trance. His focus snapping from the canvas to the man stretched out on his sofa in a pose that’s only _slightly_ ridiculous. 

“Oi” Neal says, in mock offence “Leonard Choen is a master! And don’t. Call. Me.Vicky!”

His companions only response to this laughter, and Neal glares at him around the canvas for a second before turning back to his painting.

 

_“Your breath is sweet your eye’s are like two jewels in the sky,_

_Your back straight your hair is smooth on the pillow where you lie,_

_But I don’t sense affection no gratitude or love,_

_Your loyalty is not to me but to the stars above!”_

 

He shifts in his chair, pushing it away from the easel and tilting his head to the side to examine his work. After a second he nods, scoots his chair forward again and resumes painting.

 

_“One more cup of coffee for the road,_

_One more cup of coffee ‘fore I go, to the valley below-“_

 

“And before I go completely insane!”

Neal suppresses a groan as his model shifts in to a more comfortable, and distinctly less helpful pose. 

“You know.” Neal says pleasantly. “General artist/muse etiquette dictates that the muse should sit still and keep his pretty little mouths shut!”

“Oh yeah? Well it also dictates that the artist should stop ruining perfectly good songs!”

“My singing is flawless!” Neal pouts.

“Maybe when you’re not trying to sound like Bob Dylan!”

“Hey it’s not my fault the man wouldn’t know tuneful if it danced naked in front of him playing his sodding harmonica!”

The other man gasps theatrically.

“You take that back!”

Neal dissolves into laughter.

“So I take it you _don’t_ want my help with this then huh?” his friend snaps, springing up from the couch and starting to cross the room.

“No, Dom, wait” Neal gasps jumping up and moving towards him. “I’m sorry, alright. Bob Dylan is a _master!_ He’s the best thing to happen to music this century, I’ll never say another bad word about him!” 

Dom stops, but doesn’t move to resume his posing. “I’ll make you coffee!” Neal adds, somewhat desperately. 

 

“Fiiine” he sighs. And turns on his heels, a smirk playing across his lips, “but I’m holding you to that coffee.”

Neal grins back easily and stretches, rolling his shoulders and wincing as something cracks. “How about we take a break? I think we’ve both been sitting here too long”

“Oh, _you’ve_ been sitting there too long!” Dom grumbles. He pushes open the door closest to him with his shoulder and strolls into the kitchen. “How’d you think _I_ feel? You’re not the one who had to keep that stupid pose for two hours! _Two hours!”_

Rolling his eyes Neal follows him and makes for the kettle.

“Dom, you _literally_ used my face to make a plaster cast! You owe me!” Neal’s frustration is mostly for show. _Mostly_. He’d spent over a week trying to get the stuff out of his hair! He figures this is the least Dom can do to make it up to him. 

Neal busies himself pulling mugs out of cupboards and dumping an appropriate ratio of instant coffee to sugar in each. When he turns again Dom’s snagged a shirt off one of Neal’s chairs. Neal leans against the counter, watching contentedly as he buttons it. He doesn’t bother pointing out that it’s _his_ shirt Dom’s wearing.

 

Special agent Peter Burke sighs at the small mountain of paper work in front of him. He sighs again as he leafs through the top most file. It’s a request for surveillance equipment. Peter knows he could simply skip to the end of the document and sign in without reading more that two sentences of the damn thing. That’s what that every other ASEC in the building would do. He also knows without a shadow of a doubt that his unit will never be run like that. That he will never be so apathetic towards his job that he no longer cares what his team dose. So, Peter reads every file that crosses his desk from cover to cover, and most days, he doesn’t even regret it. 

This is not one of those days. It’s quarter to six on a Friday and Peter has plans, plans involving dinner, and his lovely wife and son. Neil’s nearly three now, a bright, happy little ball of mischief. His namesake would be delighted how much trouble the kid causes, Peter’s sure. He jokes sometimes that the jinxed it, naming him after a con man. He thinks Neal would laugh at that, should he ever get the chance to tell him. 

 

The sound of someone rapping on his office door brings him back to reality. He smiles widely as he looks up to Clinton Jones standing behind the glass door to his office; his smile falters slightly when he notices the stack of paper work the agent’s holding. 

“Hey Peter” he grins, hefting the paper’s up he says “brought you a present!”

Peter grumbles amicably and Jones dumps the documents on the ever growing pile. 

“So” Jones says, stepping back and settling his gaze on Peter.

“How’s the, uh.” he pauses, trying to remember which of the growing list of ongoing cases Jones is assigned to. “The Mary Poppins case-“

“Do not talk to me about the Mary Poppins case Peter!” Jones groans loudly.

“That bad huh?”

“I swear Peter! This woman is like a ghost! Every time we think we have her, poof! She’s gone! And to make matters worse, she keeps leaving us things. At the crime scenes. This time, she left me flowers! Flowers!”

Peter tries not laugh, he really does.

“I remember when I was chasing Neal, he liked to send me thing”

“I don’t remember Caffrey ever sending you flowers” Jones points out.

“True, he did send El some though. Something about “being sorry he took up so much of my time” 

Jones snorts at that. “It’s a shame though” he says, his voice serious. “Neal would’ve been perfect for this case, you know?”

“Yeah” Peter nods, “he would’ve been.”

 

Its half past when Peter finally gets home. Thanks to his wife being nothing short of a genius their reservations aren’t for another half hour. 

“Hey hon” he calls, pausing briefly to hang up his coat before walking into the living room.

“Hi hon” El calls back, her voice floating airily down from the first floor. 

He’s at the bottom of the stairs when he sees her standing at the top. She pauses mid stride her figure is silhouetted by the soft light of hall, one foot on the first step, her hand on the banister. She’s wearing a velvety blue dress, embroidered around the neckline. Her hair tumbles elegantly around her shoulders and Peter is struck by just how much he loves her. The fact that he is struck by this realisation every time he sees her does nothing to lessen it’s intensity. 

Her face lights up as she sees him, and she hurries down the stairs to meet him, stopping on the first step.

 

“Hey, hon. How was work?” She slides her arms around his neck and leans there foreheads together.

“Oh, you know” he slides his arms around her waist, “another busy day at the office.”

“My husband” she smiles, “saving the world, one art thief at a time.”

Peter snorts at this, “more like one lengthy FBI document at a time!” 

 

El giggles, leaning in to kiss him for a moment, before stepping past him and moving towards the kitchen. 

 

“We got a new client today” El’s saying, “ a big one too. I think this could be really good for us, you know? It’s a sign, Elizabeth Burke is back in business!”

 

El’s only recently gone back full time. The business had largely been left in the hands of her second in command while she looked after Neil. As a result the business had downsized somewhat in the past few years, but El’s back now, apparently with a vengeance. Peter’s pretty sure that before long she’s going to be the best damn event planner in the city. 

 

“That’s great hon!”

“Yeah” she says. “It’s just so sudden, you know, I’m not sure we’re ready for this.”

“You’ll do fine El” he says, soothingly “if anyone can make it work it’s you.”

“Oh you know it!” she grins. “Anyway, enough about my day.”

Peter shrugs, “it was fine hon, I did a lot of paperwork. Jone’s cat bugler turned up again, she left him flowers this time!” 

El snorts.

“He was pretty wound up about it, I’d feel bad for the guy if it weren’t so damn funny.”

“Oh Peter! Be nice!” El smacks him lightly on the arm. “I remember how wound up you used to get chasing a certain con man.”

“Neal again! Why is everything coming back to Neal bloody Caffrey today?” Peter exclaims throwing his hands up in frustration.

“Peter?” El’s brow furrows with concern and Peter feels a pang of regret for his out burst.

“It’s nothing, El.” He flashes an apologetic smile at her. I’m sorry I snapped.” 

El’s eyes narrow slightly, “don’t you “it’s nothing” me Peter Burke. Tell me what’s going on.” It is not a request.

 

Peter sighs. “It’s nothing, really its, just … Jones brought him up earlier, said how this case’d be right up his ally and-“ Peter breaks off with a shrug.

“You miss him.” El says, softly. 

It’s not really a question but Peter answers it anyway. “Of course I do El, he’s my best friend.” 

 

She reaches over and squeezes his hand. “I might not know Neal the way you do, but I do know that where ever he is, he misses you too.”

“Yeah.” Peter says. “But that almost makes it worse. After everything he went through to get his freedom, he deserves to be happy.”

“Aren’t you happy with your life?”

“What? Of course I am El, why would you-“

“Well then, if you’re happy with your life, whilst still missing Neal, what makes you think he’s not happy with his whilst also missing you?” El raises an eyebrow pointedly and Peter stutters for an answer. 

“Well, uh, nothing, I guess.” He admits, a little sheepishly. 

“You’re welcome.” El says, and Peter grins at her. 

“Speaking of Neil’s,” Peter says after a beat, “ where’s the little devil?” 

“Upstairs, I put him in the play pen while I was getting ready. One of us should probably go get him soon, we don’t want to be late.”

Peter’s grateful she doesn’t comment on the abrupt change of topic. “I’ll go see what trouble he’s causing.” He announces, pushing himself out of the chair and starting towards the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is quite OC heavy, and I appreciate that OC's are not everyone's cup of tea. So fair warning, the first few chapters are going to focus pretty heavily on Neal's interactions with OC's. The focus will shift away from that slightly when Neal and Peter get reunited but my OC is staying.
> 
> If anyones interested Neal's signing "Suzanne" by Leonard Choen https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZX0CfFdk-jw  
> and "One more Cup of Coffee" by Bob Dylan (which I won't link you too because Bob Dylan songs are virtually impossible to find on youtube.)  
> (Another note, I am very dyslexic, if you spot spelling/gramma mistakes let me know cuz I've probably missed some!)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The panthers are back in town.

“Hey! Vic!” Neal’s head jerks up in response to his name. His eyes falling on Dom’s familiar form, he raises his hand above his head and waves his friend over. 

“Hey, what’re you doing here?” Neal asks as Dom plonks himself in the chair opposite Neal.

“Thought I might find you here.” He says with an easy grin, his gaze fixed some where over Neal’s right shoulder. 

“Oh?” Neal raises an eyebrow in amusement. “I must be getting predictable.”

Dom’s grin widens, “nah, I just know you too well.”

Neal hums in response, dropping his gaze back to his lunch. He tries to quell the emotions that statement elicits, he fails. 

“Vic? You okay?” 

When he raises his head Dom’s frowning at him, concern etched across his feature. Neal forces a smile.

“Yeah Dom, I’m good.” He says. A voice in the back of his head, that sounds remarkably like Peter whispers “once a con, always a con.”

“You sure about that?” Dom asks lightly.

“No” he says, rather reluctantly. “But I don’t think either of us want to go down that road right now so lets just, talk about something else, alright?”

“Sure.” Dom shrugs, and reaches across the table for a menu.

“Why do you even bother looking at that, Dom? You eat the exact same thing _every_ time we come here!” 

“It’s what people do, isn’t it!” Dom says this as though its the most obvious answer in the world.

“What?” Neal suppresses a laugh.

“It’s what people do. They look at the menu and then they order.” 

Neal’s actually laughing now. Dom scowls at him from across the table.

“What?” His friend exclaims, “what? Stop laughing!”

“Alright, alight” Neal throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Just go order you’re damn lunch already.”

Dom pulls a face at Neal and lurches out of his chair and towards the counter. Neal shakes his head, smiling to himself, and turns his attention back to the scene around him.

 

It’s a nice caffe, bright and modern, with large windows and a display full of pastries. It’s tucked into the corner of a rather quaint Parisian street and is run by an elderly French lady and her two daughters. The caffe’s interior is bright, the walls painted in a light cream colour, the floor dark wood. The tables are square and made of some form of white plastic as are the chairs, which are surprisingly comfortable. Neal’s table is at the front of the shop, over looking the street, which today, is mostly deserted. It’s October and the rapidly approaching winter is making itself known, in the form of near torrential rain. Neal had very seriously considered not coming, it’s only a short walk from the gallery but he’d still gotten soaked. Unfortunately for him the only other options were the staff break room or this visitors caffe. The former is, given that Neal’s break coincides with the breaks of about a quarter of the staff, always crammed full of far more people than it was ever intended to hold. As if that wasn’t bad enough, by the time Neal get’s there someone has inevitably commandeered the TV forcing whoever else had the misfortune of being there to sit through an hours worth of day time television or reality show re-runs. The latter option is always packed full of tourists and horrendously over priced. It had been his desire to eat a somewhat pleasant lunch that had lead to the two of them meeting here on a regular basis. Well that and Dom’s personal vendetta against his universities canteen. 

 

 

Neal glances back at Dom who’s standing in line by the counter. It’s unusually busy today, probably due to the rain. Dom’s standing behind a handful of other patrons. His heads tipped back and slightly to the side, his gaze fixed for the moment on the wall in front of him. His hands are stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie and he’s rocking on the balls of his feet as he waits, shifting his weight from his heels to his toes and back again. 

 

Neal slumps back in his chair and laughs. If someone’d told him three years ago that he’d end up in Paris, with a job that wasn’t illegal and an apartment that was actually his he would’ve laughed in their face. But, here he is. He still can’t quite believe this is real, or that he’s gone two years without fucking something up. He likes his life here, for the most part. Working in a gallery wasn’t exactly the future he always dreamed of, but he enjoys it, and his apartments not exactly glamours but it’s his. And usually that’s enough, sure it’s a pretty big step from his old life but it’s not exactly the first time Neal’s burnt an alias, become someone new. The difference is, this is the first time he’s tried to become someone _real_ , he hadn’t expected it to be so hard. He still catches himself sometimes, doing things just because someone else expects it, or saying things just because someone else wants to hear them. Part of him still wonders if he can ever really be anything more than a con, or if he’s just delaying the inevitable. Today is one of those days.

 

_“You’ve spent a year staring into a mirror,_

_Another one trying to figure out what you saw,_

_Paid so much attention to what you’re not,_

_You have, no idea who you are.”_

 

It strikes him as he pitches forward and pressing his face into his hands, that the choice of song is rather fitting. He misses being Neal, he misses New York. He misses his apartment with its million dollar view that was never really his in the first place. He misses working for the FBI, he misses his friends. But mostly, he misses Peter. 

He’d known he would, his brief stint in Cape Verde had taught him that. But there’d been enough time between Cape Verde and his “death” back in New York that he’d been wholly unprepared for the intensity. He’d known long before he left that he was never going to see Peter again. He’d made his peace with that, at least, he thought he had. Neal’s left behind a lot of people and a lot of places and a lot of identities in his time. And sure he never likes to kill his aliases, you never know when they might come in handy again, but he’s never had this much trouble burning one before. Then again, the only alias he’d had for longer than “Neal Caffrey” was “Danny Brooks.” So he supposes it’s not altogether surprising that he’s somewhat sentimental towards it. 

 

_“But heaven knows, knows,_

_That you’re lying,_

_As far as heaven goes, heaven goes,_

_I just stopped trying”_

 

“Vic?”

Neal starts at the sound of Dom’s voice, jerking his head up to look at his friend. Dom’s standing opposite him holding tray containing a cheese toastie and a mug of coffee. He’s frowning at Neal with undisguised concern. 

“You okay?” 

Neal forces a smile and runs a hand through his hair. 

“Yeah, I’m good.” Dom does not look convince, not that Neal can really blame him. “I’m fine, really, I’ve just got a headache that’s all.” It’s not exactly a lie, Neal’s good at that, misleading without ever actually lying.

Dom raises an eyebrow.

Neal laughs humourlessly, and rubs a hand down his face.

“I miss New York.” The truth does not come easily to Neal, ever instinct Neal has is screaming at him for admitting that. 

Dom, on the other hand nods sympathetically and says, “can you really not go back?”

“Trust me.” Neal sighs, “if I could, I would.”

“Ah yes, your mysterious criminal past. Well, I guess we’re both stuck here then aren’t we?”

Neal snorts. “Your compassion is appreciated Dom!” 

“What?” Dom says incredulously. “You wanna talk about it?”

“No.” Neal’s started speaking almost before Dom’s finished, shaking his head sharply and drawing out the “O’.

Dom smirks. “That’s what I thought.”

 

The eat in silence for a while, the noise of the caffe rising around them. Neal pushes away his empty plate, finishes his coffee and turns his attention back to Dom. He’s finished eating as well but still has half a coffee left. Although Neal’s not entirely convinced he’s noticed this. Dom’s pitched forwards over the table with his head resting against his right hand, his left is tracing patterns over the tables surface. His gaze is fixed on something behind Neal, but when he looks all he can see is an empty street. 

“Hey.” Neal leans forward, reaching for Dom’s wrist as he does. “Are you okay?”

“Uh-huh.” Dom nods, but his face is blank, his eyes unfocused.

“Dude, seriously?” Neal’s tone says _“I’m not an idiot”_

“S’loud.” 

“Oh.”

Neal hadn’t really noticed the rising noise levels but now he thinks about it is loud, or at least, louder than it usually would be.

“You wanna leave?” Neal asks, keeping his voice low.

That at least gets Dom looking at him, Neal’s long since given up expecting him to make eye contact. 

“Nah, it’s okay”

“You sure? I mean we can go if you want?”

Dom flashes a smile at him and shakes his head. “Nah it’s okay, we’ve both gotta go soon anyway. Might as well stay here.”

“Ok.”

“Ok” Dom echoes. 

 

Neal’s met a lot of eccentric people in his time, hell Moz believed in every conspiracy theory under the sun and then some. So Dom’s… _eccentricities_ didn’t exactly bother him. He’d spent more evenings that he’d care to admit trying to convince Mozzie that the alien’s weren’t actually out to get him. So Dom being sensitive to certain things wasn’t exactly the weirdest thing Neal’d encountered. At least Dom gave him an explanation, he’d never know exactly what was up with Mozzie, wasn’t entirely sure Mozzie knew himself.

 

“Hey, Vic?” A hand waves in front of his face and Neal jumps, jerking his head up to find Dom grinning at him.

Neal raises an eyebrow at him and says “yeah?”

“I gotta go man, but I’ll see ya round, yeah?”

Neal blinks, glances at his watch and swears. “Oh crap! Yeah me too.” He pauses long enough to promise to catch up with Dom later, and to thank him for lunch. Before bolting out of the caffe and muttering a silent prayer to whoever’s listening that his supervisors in a good mood.

 

Peter’s 40 minuets into his meal when his phone rings. Sighing heavily he squeezes his eye shut, slowly lowering his cutlery back to his plate.  
“Well.” El says cheerfully. “That lasted a whole 20 minuets longer than last time!”  
“Hon, I am so-“ Peter starts.   
El tuts rolling her eyes and cuts him off “go, _go!_ It’s fine, you can make it up to me.”  
Peter takes a moment to grin at her before pulling his phone out of his pocket and answering.  
“Burke.” He says, weaving his way through the restaurant to stand in the lobby.  
“Hey, Peter.” Jones’s voice crackles through the speakers. The sound’s tiny and slightly drowned out by the din of other restaurant goers, but Peter knows that tone anywhere.  
“Jones.” He barks. “Tell me whats going on?”  
On the other end Jones clears his throat before saying “the panthers are out, Peter.”  
“The panthers are- How?”  
“I don’t yet, it looks like they managed to get themselves transferred to the same, lower security facility. They broke out before anyone noticed the error.”  
“Dammit! Dammit.” Peter swears, rubbing a hand across his face. “When?”  
“I just got the call, they’ve got about a half hours head start.”  
There’s a moment of silence before Jones says “I spoke the warden, they want you on board with this Peter.”  
Peter laughs bitterly. “Oh they’d better, because I’m working this case wether they want me to or not.”  
“Had a feeling you might say that.”  
Peter spares a moment to appreciate his colleagues before slipping back into boss mode.  
“Alright, I’m heading over to the scene, text me the address and let the warden know I’m coming.”  
“You want me to meet you there?”  
“Yeah, but I want someone back at the office to coordinate with.”  
“I’ll wake up the team.”  
“Thanks Jones.”

Peter stands there, surrounded by the hustle of Friday night in New York. He watches the cars and the people, hearing the the sounds of the restaurant buzzing behind him. He stands, and he watches the world go by, as if nothings changed, as if the phone call he’s been waiting for for two years didn’t just bring any sense of security he had crashing down around his ears. The Panthers are dangerous, and out for blood. His blood, and Neal’s. He know’s they’ll have no qualms about using his wife and child to get it. 

“We need to go.” Peter announces, grabbing his jacket off of the back of his chair.  
“Peter?” El’s eyes are full of confusion, and just a little fear. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”  
“Yeah” Peter nods, “something happened. We can’t talk about it now, but I need you to do something for me.”  
“Of course, Peter, anything.”  
“Come with me, I’ll explain in the car.”  
They flag down a waitress and Peter explains that there’s been an emergency and so, unfortunately they won’t be staying for the rest of their meal. She’s very nice about it, Peter makes sure to tip her generously.

He waits until they’ve got Neil in the carseat before he pulls El aside.  
“You remember the last case I worked with Neal?” he says, there’s no point beating around the bush.  
“The pink panther case? The one that nearly got him killed?” El’s afraid, he can tell. He hate’s making his wife afraid.  
“Yeah, that one.”  
“Peter what’s going on?”  
“They broke out, El. The panthers broke out. I don’t know how, but, I’ve got a pretty good idea why.”  
El gasps softly. “Oh my god, _Peter.”_  
“I know! I know.”  
“They’re going to come after us, aren’t they?”  
“El-“  
“No! Peter, don’t El me. I don’t need to be coddled, I need you to tell me the truth.”  
“Yes.” He says. “I was the lead agent, I was responsible for putting them in prison. They’re going to want revenge, they’re not going to care who they hurt to get it.”  
El nods, pressing her lips together and gathers her composure.   
“What do you need me to do?”  
“Go home, pack a bag. I’m going to have an agent come over and take you and Neil somewhere safe.”  
“What about you?”  
“I’ll be okay, I promise.”  
“You’d better be!” She jabs a finger light at his chest, and Peter pulls her into a hug. “I promise. Everything’s gonna be okay.”  
“There’s something else I need you to do.” Peter says, stepping back  
“Oh? El tips her head to the side, her eyes narrowing slightly.  
“You can get hold of Mozzie, right?”  
She nods.  
“Tell him what happened, tell him Neal’s in trouble. I have a feeling if anyone can get a message to Neal it’s him.”  
“You think the panther’s will go after Neal? Even though he’s ‘dead’?”  
“I think in Neal’s world, death is somewhat subjective. This isn’t the first time Neal’s faked his death, and I’m sure he’s been careful. But the panthers are out and they’re going to be looking for him. He needs to be prepared for that.” 

 

Neal’s not especially surprised to find Dom in his kitchen when he get’s home for work. He’s perched on one of the stools at Neal’s breakfast bar, eating what looks to be Chinese out of a take out box. 

“Hope you brought enough for me.” Neal smirks, dropping his keys on the table and opening the fridge. 

“Yeah yeah, top of the fridge.” Dom rolls his eyes. 

Neal removes the two tupperware boxes and a carton of juice from the fridge. 

A few minutes later he slides into the chair opposite Dom with a glass full of juice and a plate of Chinese.

It’s been a few days since they saw each other at the caffe, they’ve both been busy, Neal with work Dom with school. 

“You manage to get that piece in on time?” Neal asks

“Just about.” Dom says, pulling a face. “One day you’re gonna tell me how it is you know so much about Vermeer’s brush work.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t hold your breath on that one.”

Dom rolls his eyes.

“What?” Neal says, “I’ve got to have some mysteries!”

“You my friend, have more than enough mysteries.”

Neal laughs. 

“You manage to finish that commission you were working on?” Dom asks.

 

His main jobs at a local gallery but he’s been selling paintings when he can. It’s mostly for fun, but it does help make ends meet. 

 

“Yeah.” He says. “Dropped it off this morning, paid pretty nicely too.”

Dom grunts, “alright for some! All mine are getting me is debt”

Neal raises an eyebrow at him, “yours are getting a degree Dom.”

“Yeah” Dom grumbles, “remind me why I thought this was a good idea again?”

Neal shakes his head, “you’re being dramatic.”

“Probably” Dom says, “you’re one to talk.”

Neal gasps, “me? Dramatic! That’s ridiculous!”

 

Dom snorts, and shoves a fork full of noodles into his mouth.

 

“Hey, Vic?” Dom says, after a beat.

“Yeah?”

“Did you get a new phone?”

What?” Neal blinks. “No?”

“Oh.” Dom’s eye’s narrow, his brow furrowing with confusion. “That’s weird.”

“Why?”

“Because I found this-“ he pauses, pulling a phone out of his pocket. “On the table when I came it.”

“Let me see that.” Dom places the phone in Neal’s outstretched hand. 

 

It’s a small black flip phone, he opens it and turns it over in his hands. The plastic’s smooth and shiny, judging by the condition it’s in, it’s brand new. It’s also cheap, it’s not even a brand and everything about it is distinctly plasticy. It practically has “burner” written all over it. 

 

“Where’d you find this?”

“It was right there” Dom points to the middle of the table.

“And the door was locked when you got here, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Nothing was out of place? Nothing at all?”

“No! Shit Vic, I would’ve told you if I’d thought someone had been in here!”

“Yeah” Neal says, softly. 

“What going on?”

“Only one way to find out.” Neal holds down the power button. After a few seconds the screen lights up and a little jingle trills out of the phones tinny speakers. 

Neal’s not surprised to find everything on the phone is default, at least at a glance. A quick search of the phone reveals a single number programmed into the contacts. There’s no name attached, and Neal doesn’t recognise them number but in his game that’s nothing unusual. 

 

Neal hums “I wonder who this could be.”

“Maybe we should call the police? I mean, someone broke into your house Vic, that’s-“

Neal shushes him with a wave of his hand and hits the “call” button.

“Oh my god Vic, what the hell are you doing?”

“Finding out who broke into my flat. Now shhh”

Neal tunes out his protests and turns his attention back to the phone. 

It rings exactly three times before the person at the other end picks up.

 

“Who is this?” Neal says after it becomes apparent whoever’s on the other end isn’t going to speak first. He keeps his voice low and smooth, straightening his back and setting his shoulders he slips back into the role of “Neal Caffrey.”

“Hello, Neal. It’s been a long time.”

 

Neal freezes, forcing himself not to react. He knows that voice, he’d know it anywhere.

 

“That’s putting it mildly.” He keeps his voice casual, but he can’t quite hold back the grin. “How’re you doing Mozzie?”

 

“Oh you know. Can’t complain, thing’s have gotten a lot quieter since you left.”

“C’mon Mozz, you never needed my help finding trouble.”

“You sell yourself short, you my friend have a gift for trouble like no one else!” 

Neal ducks his head and laughs. “Yeah, well, not anymore.”

“So I heard.” Mozzie says somewhat coldly. “You know, I kept expecting you to turn up. Expecting that I’d open a newspaper or turn on my TV and hear about something so _ridiculous_ it just had to be you. But you didn’t turn up.”

“Mozz.” Neal breaths, what he really mean’s is _“don’t”_

“Imagine my surprise when I found you. Living in a crappy apartment in Paris, working at a second rate gallery!”

“Hey!” Neal says, a vein attempt to stop this argument before it starts. “I like my apartment!”

 

There’s a pause.

“What the hell happened to you, Neal?” Mozzie doesn’t sound angry any more. He sounds disappointed. 

Neal tightens his grip on the phone and clenches his jaw. Anger he could have dealt with; anger he would have understood. But disappointment, that’s something else entirely. 

 

“What happened too me?” Neal laughs unpleasantly. “I _grew up_ Mozz! That’s what happened to me!” 

“You grew up?” Mozz laughs incredulously. “If you think growing up is deluding yourself into thinking you can be anything other than what you are then there really is no saving you!”

“Stop it Mozzie, I-“ Neal breaks off. Forcing himself to take a breath. “I’m not doing this. I’m not having this argument with you. Either tell me what you want or I’m hanging up.”

“I have a message.” Mozzie says curtly. “From the suit.”

“Peter?”

“You know any other suits?”

“What’s the message, Mozzie?” Neal snaps.

“He says be careful. The panthers are out, and they’re looking for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should post some sort of apology with this chapter. I'll stop being mean to Neal eventually I promise.   
> I have three assignments all due on Monday so this chapter is somewhat less proof read than I would've liked if you see mistakes let me know :)   
> Caffe song is "Heaven knows" by First Aid Kit https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_RJ1bKfSgZk the rest of the song doesn't have much to do with Neal but I like it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone reading this had a great Christmas if you celebrate it, if you don't I hope you had a great day anyway!
> 
> I cannot for the LIFE of me remember which devision Diana actually transferred too, or even if they actually mentioned it so, for the purpose of this fic, she transferred to cyber crimes. (Although, if anyone knows where she did go let me know!)

The prison is a circus by the time Peter gets there. The surrounding area’s full of flashing lights and frantic people. It becomes apparent that this is not a normal jail break when Peter hits road blocks a few meters outside the prison. He’s arguing with one of the officers, who's irately refusing to let Peter past when Jones jogs up.

 

“What the hell is all this?” Peter demands once he’s out of the car, and far enough from the hustle to have a semi-privet conversation.

Jones gives Peter a helpless shrug, “apparently, there’s some sort of… Riot.”

“A riot?”

“Yeah.”

“There just _happens_ to be a riot the same night the panthers break out? There’s no way that’s a coincidence.”

Jones nods. “I’m thinkin’ they planned it. You know, incited a riot, used the ensuing chaos to slip away while everyone’s attention was elsewhere.”

Peter grunts, “gave themselves a pretty good head start too. There’s no way we’re getting in there until this is under control.”

“Yeah, it’s a miracle we found out about it so soon.”

“How _did_ we find out about it anyway?” He can’t imagine that head counts are top priority right now.

“They jumped a guard, roughed him up a little and locked him in a store room. It looks like they used his key card to get out. Probably didn’t bank on him getting out of there till this was all over, lucky for us the guard knew how to pick locks.”

Peter sighs, running a hand across his face. “At least we know why they were so keen for us to take point on this now.”

Jones snickers.

“Alright.” Peter says, “I want you to call whoever you’ve got back at the office. Have them reach out to the other prisons. I want to know who authorised these transfers and what the hell they thought they were doing, and I want to know yesterday!”

“I’m on it.”

“Great.” Peter says, “the Marshals are on site, right?

Jones nods.

“I’m gonna track down the agent in charge, see where they’re at with the man hunt. I was hoping I’d be able to talk to the warden but…” Peter gestures exasperatedly at the surrounding havoc.

 

It takes Peter twenty minuets to find the Marshal in charge, a petite blonde woman by the name of Katie Jackson. She’s standing in the metaphorical eye of the storm. Lesser agents swarm around her with a frantic determination while she barks orders. She’s younger than Peter. With dirty blonde hair pulled back into a high ponytail and a US marshal windbreaker.

 

“Agent Burke!” It’s less of a question and more of a demand.

“Marshal Jackson, right?”

“Please, call me Katie.”

“Katie, right. I was hoping we could talk.”

“Good.” She says, “I was starting to think I’d have to track you down myself. Look I’m going to be frank Peter, can I call you Peter?” She doesn’t wait for a response. “The Marshal’s are doing everything we can but until we can get in there and talk to the warden, look at security footage, you know the drill-” She makes a vague, dismissive gesture at this. “-That’s somewhat limited. Usually we’d figure out their escape route and try to track their movement’s that way but by the time we do that they’ll be long gone.”

“So what are you doing?”

“I’ve got my people canvasing the area around their most likely escape route. I’ve got their pictures to local PD and every major airport in the sate but, it’s not gonna catch these guys.”

“I take it that’s where I come in?” Peter asks.

“Exactly!” She beams at him. Peter finds, much to his surprise, that he rather likes her.

“I’ve got my team reaching out to the prisons the Panthers were supposed to be in. There’s no way they pulled this off without outside help. If we can figure out who that was, we can use them to lead us back to the Panthers.”

“And?”

“And what?”

She sighs impatiently. “Look, Peter, I know your record, I’ve read your file. I know your history with these guys, and I know you’re the best. You’ve got something up you sleeve and I want to know what it is.”

“Agent Burke.” She says, off his less than impressed look.

“I’m not looking to, steal the FBI’s limelight or take the credit or whatever. I just want to put these guys back where they belong, and that’s going to go a lot faster if we work together on this. You were the lead agent on the case, you were the one who finally put them away. No one knows these guys like you. So if there is anything, anything at all, any hunch, any detail you can give me that might help us find them then-“ She breaks off, spreading her arms wide in a hopeful gesture, her body language open, honest.

Peter sighs. He might not have the best history with the Marshals but he’s always believed in intra-department cooperation. Besides, he really could use all the help he can get.

“If you’ve read the case reports you know it wasn’t just me who took down the Panthers.”

“Well, no.” Her brow furrows in confusion “I’m sure you had an excellent team but-“

“I did.” Peter interrupts. “I did have an excellent team, I still have an excellent team, but most importantly, I had an inside man.”

“Right, the CI, what was his name-“

“Neal.” Peter supplies “Neal Caffrey.”

“Right” She says and then she frowns. “Now I don’t mean to be insensitive here, but Neal Caffrey’s dead. Mathew Keller shot him, so, what good does he do us now?”

“He was a con man, who double crossed the Pink Panthers. Everyone knows what happens when you double cross the Panthers and Neal faked his death before, more than once. They aren’t just going to take it for granted that he’s really dead they’re going to want to be sure.”

She nods pensively. “As Neal’s handler I’m guessing you have a pretty good idea who his contacts were and where to find them.”

“Yeah.” Peter nods, “I plan to contact as many as possible, if we’re lucky the Panther’s will reach out to one of them.”

“And they’ll reach out to you. Sounds like a good plan.” She says. “You’ll keep me in the loop?”

“As long as you’ll return the favour.”

“I find anything, you’ll be the first person I call.”

“I appreciate that”

“No problem, now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a man hunt to run.” She gives him a ruthless smile as she starts to walk away. She takes a few strides before stopping, suddenly.

“Oh! Agent Burke” She calls.

Peter turns, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head in question.

“Your boy Caffrey, he _is_ dead, right?”

“That’s what my files say.”

It’s not a lie. It’s not the truth either.

Agent Diana Berrigan has been in DC for two years. She’s accomplished a lot in those two years, both personally and professionally. She’d been sad to leave white collar and she’d been sad to leave her friends, but she’s never doubted for a second that it was the right decision. The DC cyber crimes devision is really something to behold and Diana is steadily working her way up the ladder. She’s also figuring out being a mother and moving in with her girlfriend. Its been tough, its been hectic, its been scary and Diana’s loved every goddam minute of it.

Although, curled up on the sofa of her apartment with a beautiful girl, watching her son play trains on the living room floor and listening to the rain lashing the windows, she knows there’s nothing she loves more than this.

 

So naturally this is the moment her phone rings. She knows it Peter before she even looks at the screen; years ago she mistakenly bet Neal he couldn’t guess her passcode. Of course he didn’t just guess her passcode he lifted her phone, guessed her passcode, took a bunch of stupid photos and gave everyone on the team custom ringtones. _Then_ he put her phone back where he found it and took himself _very_ far away from her wrath. She’d undone most of the damage and put the fear of god into him but even several phone’s later she’d kept the ringtones.

 

“Hey boss” she says, trying not to sound too put out.

“Diana.” She knows from his tone this isn’t a social call. “I need your help.”

“Sure.” She says, almost reflexively. There’s very little she wouldn’t do for Peter, “anything.”

“You might wanna hear what I’ve got to say before you agree.” He warns.

“Peter, after everything we’ve been through together, you know I’m not going to say no to you.”

“Still” he says.

“Alright” she sighs, “tell me what’s going on.”

 

“Shit!” Diana hisses, earning herself a sharp, concerned look from Dani.

“Yeah” Peter says.”Look, the Panthers are dangerous and I know what I’m asking you to risk. If you don’t want to be involved I understand.”

“No! Peter, I want in.” She insists. “Your family is my family I want to protect them. Besides Neal died trying to put these bastards behind bars, wouldn’t be right if they got away now.”

“Thank you, Diana.”

“Don’t thank me yet!” She says, reality is beginning to get in the way of her desire to drop everything and run back to New York. “I assume you were planning on having me reassigned to White Collar?”

“Only temporarily.” He says. “”But I wanted to clear it with you before going through official channels.”

Diana appreciates that. “Peter, I’m going to do everything I can to help but I need you to hold off transferring me, just for a little bit. I need to make arrangements, I need to talk to my girlfriend.”

“Of course, call me, when you’re ready.”

“I will.” She assures him. “Peter, if there’s anything I can do in the mean time…”

“I will let you know.”

 

She says goodbye and turns to Dani. She’s draped across the sofa, kneeling on the seat with her torso braced against the back. Dani’s a striking woman, a few inches taller than Diana and just as beautiful. Her eyes are so dark that from a distance they look black, it’s not until you get closer you can see the ripples of light. Today they’re outlined in slightly smudged gold liner making her eyes glow, and the skin around them sparkle slightly. Her hair is much the same colour as her eyes and frames her face like a bushy halo. Today she’s wearing a slightly oversized grey jumper, which Diana’s pretty sure is cashmere, a pair of snug blue jeans and an expression of concern.

“Di?” She asks, her brow furrowed adorably. “What’s going on?”

“That was Peter” she says, hesitantly.

“Yeah.” Dani says “I heard.”

“He wants me to go back to New York…”

“What?” Dani asks, a hint of humour in her voice, “realised he can’t run the department without you did he?”

“Not quite.” Diana sighs. “The last case I worked, before I transferred here, we were trying to take down this, gang of thieves the called themselves the Pink Panthers.”

“Yeah, I remember hearing about that on the news, that was you?”

“Well.” Diana says, “I was part of the task force, but yeah. Problem is they broke out of prison and Peter…”

“Wants you to fly back to New York to help him catch them?”

“Yeah.”

“Look at you! Every devision wants the great Diana Berrigan!” Dani exclaims, grinning.

“You don’t mind?”

“Mind what? You going to New York?”

“Yeah, I don’t know how long I’ll be there.”

“I can’t ask you not to do your job babe, I knew what I was signing up for when I asked you out.”

“It could take months.”

Dani’s face softens, and she slides off the sofa and crosses the room coming to a half in front of Diana.

“We’ll make it work” she says, putting her hands on Diana’s shoulders.

Diana sighs softly and leans into her, circling her arms round Dani’s waist and pulling her close.

“What did I do to deserve you?” She murmurs

“I don’t know. Must’ve been something impressive though” Dani teases, leaning forward and kissing her softly.

Diana leans back after a second and sighs again. “I should ring Peter back, tell him to go ahed with the transfer. And, I should ring the nursery, let them know Theo’s not gonna be in-“

“Wait, you’re taking him with you! Di you don’t need to do that, you know I’ll look after him.”

“I know, Dani, and I appreciate it. But I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not, I’m offering.”

“I know, I know but… I need to know he’s safe Dani, I need to be able to protect him, I can’t do that if he stays here.”

“But, won’t it be more dangerous in New York?”

Diana see’s her point, she really does but “Peter’ll have Neil and El at a safe-house, I know him, he won’t take any chances with their safety. El won’t mind watching him, it’s the safest place he can be. I hate to ask that of her but-”

“Well then don’t” Dani says.

Diana opens her mouth to argue but Dani cuts her off, “take me with you! You won’t have to ask El to look after Theo, and you know how much I love New York!”

“We’re not talking about a vacation here Dani, you’d be in protective custody! Trust me, that gets dull after the first half hour, you’ll be bored to tears by the end of the week!”

“Well!” She says decisively. “That’s even more reason for me to go, isn’t it? Someone’s got to keep El company.”

“I… Are you serious, Dani? You really want to come?”

“Yes.”

Diana laughs, a little breathlessly, “I guess I’d better make that call then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, there is supposed to be a paragraph break in here between the end of Peter's bit and the start of Diana's but no matter what I do it will not let me add one and short of deleting the chapter and re-uploading it I'm sort of out of ideas so... Yeah sorry guys I know it sort of screws with the flow but I'm not sure how to fix it.


	4. Chapter 4

Neal sees Dom as soon as he steps foot outside the museum. He briefly considers turning around and going out the back, but Dom doesn’t deserve that. Neal just doesn’t want to deal with the slew of questions his friend is undoubtedly going to bombard him with, not that he can exactly blame him he knows Dom’s just trying to help; he also knows he can’t, under any circumstances tell him about the Panthers. The less Dom knows about it, the better for both of them. Which means Neal’s going to have to lie to him, and Neal really, does not, want to lie to him. He’d made a point of it when he became Victor, of not lying to his friends, or anyone if he can help it, and so far, he hasn’t. Not about anything important, anyway.   
Neal stops, shoulders slumping and stares at Dom. He’s leaning up against one of the gates at the entrance to the gallery’s grounds, his head’s bowed as he types something on his phone. Neal can’t really see his face, just a mop of curly auburn hair. He frowns a little, watching Dom’s body language, trying to decide if he’s pissed, the fact Neal’s been ignoring his calls for nearly a week does not bode well for him.   
Dom’s hunched over his phone, he shifts his position ever few seconds, crossing his feet, uncrossing them, shifting his weight, tapping his boot on the ground. If he were watching anyone else he’d think they were scared, it’s hard to tell with Dom. He doesn’t look angry though, which Neal takes as a good sign.   
Before he can make a more detailed assessment of his friends emotional state Dom raises his head and his eyes land on Neal. There’s a brief, tense pause before Dom registers Neal’s presence and any questions Neal had about his friends opinion of him are answered by Dom’s face breaking into a grin. Neal suppresses a laugh, he’s been ignoring Dom all week for no apparent reason and the guy still looks pleased to see him.

“Oh, you actually _are_ still alive then? I was beginning to wonder!” Is the first thing Dom says to him.  
“Dom…” Neal starts.  
“Don’t “Dom” me! Vic what the fuck’s going on?”  
“Dom-“ Neal starts, he breaks off when he realises he has no idea how to finish that sentence. “I can’t okay.” He says lamely.  
“This is about that weird phone call, isn’t it?”  
“…Yeah.” He admits. “I’m _serious_ , Dom I can’t tell you what’s going on.”  
Dom sighs and leans back on his heels, his gaze flicking away from Neal and sweeping over the buildings behind him.   
“Alright.” Dom says, his voice is light but there’s an undercurrent Neal recognises. Whatever he’s about to say is not up for debate. “I’ll make you a deal.”  
“Oh?” Neal says.  
“When you say you can’t tell me, Vic I believe you. I do, and even if I didn’t I still wouldn’t make you tell me. So, I won’t ask you what’s going on again.”

Once again Neal finds himself thrown. There’s a lot of ways Neal imagined this conversation going but Dom understanding was not one of them. People, especially people who know who he really is, trusting him, really trusting him, is not something he’s gotten used to. Below the confusion and gratitude is anger, because seriously, he could’ve just told Dom he couldn’t talk about it, but no. Instead he’d done what he always did and shut out his friends. 

“What’s my side of the bargain?” Neal asks, though he already knows he’ll agree to it.  
“Well, _firstly_ , stop ignoring me, arsehole!” It takes Neal a moment to process that sentence, mostly because half of it’s in French and half of it’s in English. Dom always did prefer cussing in the latter.   
“Done.” Neal says, trying to emphasise his sincerity. Most of the frustration in Dom’s voice had been put on but not all of it.  
“And just-“ Dom breaks off, rubbing the back of his neck self consciously. “ Vic, are you in danger?”  
“Maybe.” Neal says. “I don’t know yet.”  
“Just, be careful, alright?”

 

 

The walk back to Neal’s apartment is mostly uneventful, they spend most of it catching up. He tells Dom about the pompous American tourist who’d yelled at him because everyone in the gallery was speaking French, and then threatened to have him fired when he’d tried to point out they were _in France_! Dom tells him about his latest disagreement with the universities exam office, and Neal doesn’t know much about equality laws but he’s fairly sure “forgetting” students were supposed to have accommodations breaks at least _one_ of them.

Neal’s apartment is nice, not as nice as June’s, but still nice. Besides, he’s discovered there’s something satisfying about knowing this space is really his. The “apartment” is really the top floor of a two story house that’s been renovated into it’s own, self-sufficient space. It’s an old house, but it’s in good shape. The outside is made of smooth, weathered stone, the front door is a deep, glossy green and is framed on either side by large, bright windows. The house even has a little front yard, complete with window boxes full of roses, there’s no lawn, but the cobblestones are disrupted by little patches of grass, it really is very pretty. Or, at least, it is in the summer, today it’s cold, the roses are bare, the grass is dead and the cobblestones are slick with mud and moss.   
The wind picks up and Neal shivers, hastily shoving the key into the lock and tumbles into the relative sanctity of the hall. Dom pushes in after him, talking softly about what they should have for dinner.

The bottom story of the house is rented to a middle aged nurse named Isabelle. It’s laid out a little more conventionally than Neal’s flat. The front door opens into the main hallway, which is bright and narrow, on the right is the downstairs bed room the door to which is firmly shut. At the end of the hall and to the left are the stairs to Neal’s apartment, to the right is the door to the kitchen. There’s a bathroom tucked in under the stairs and a living room behind the bedroom. The house is quite still and quiet. Both of them drop their voices to accommodate the silence, and because Isabelle works night shifts. Neal’s been chewed out for waking her up more times than he’d care to admit. Neal pauses while Dom begins depositing his things on the coat rack, idly scanning the house. Neal’s not sure what it is that catches his attention, what it is that about the situations that’s setting off alarm bells, but the longer he stands here the more intense the sensation of wrongness gets. 

Neal, grabbing Dom’s arm and hissing at him to shush goes still. Ignoring the confused looks Dom’s sending his way he takes a breath and focuses on his surroundings, brining his senses into focus. The house _looks_ the same as it always does at least at a glance. Neal’s gaze scans over the hallway with it’s cream coloured walls and wooden floor and past the hall into the kitchen. He has a pretty clear view of it from where he’s standing, he’s pretty sure it’s empty. Most of the kitchen table is in his field of view. There’s a small collections of miscellaneous items, an empty cereal bowl, a couple of mugs and what looks like some form of diary scattered across the table top. There’s a small pile of dirty dished piled into the sink and the far end, and all the cupboards Neal can see are closed. It looks undisturbed, although it’s hard to tell from here. The door to the living room’s open as well, although Neal can see less of it than the kitchen. Just a little sliver of the room, mostly taken up by window and sofa. Neal’s eyes track up the stairs, peering into the landing which is equally unhelpful. 

The fact that Neal can’t see anything out of the ordinary is not doing anything to ease his nerves, but, there’s more than one sense after all. Neal focuses instead on what his other senses are telling him. The house is quiet, city noises filter dimly through the walls. The rush of traffic, the distant wail of sirens, someone shouting, Neal tunes it out turning his attention inward. There’s the faint buzzing of the fridge from the kitchen and low rumbling from the buildings ancient plumbing. The house smells of coffee and air-freshener and, like all old house, very faintly musty. Nothing unusual there either, Neal’s actually starting to think that he’s imagining things when, very faintly, the unmistakable sound of a floor board creaking drifts down from above. Not in the way that floor boards creak as houses settle either, in the way floor boards creak when somebody steps on them. 

It hits him, suddenly, what his instincts have been trying to tell him since the moment he stepped foot in the house; they are not alone. You spend enough time breaking into places, you get pretty good at knowing when you’re alone and when you need to run. Right now, all of Neal’s instincts are screaming at him run, but Neal likes it here. He can’t just drop everything and run, not until he’s sure. Against his better judgement he turns, pressing a finger to his lips to keep Dom quiet and tugs gently on his sleeve. Dom obligingly steps forwards, he looks like he can’t quite decide if he should be confused or amused. 

Neal leans towards him. “I think there’s someone upstairs.” He can’t see Dom’s reaction to this because his face is basically pressed against the side of Dom’s head so he speak into his ear. Which, whilst slightly awkward is better than tipping off whoever’s in the house.  
“Wha-“  
“Shh!” Neal hisses clamping a hand over Dom’s mouth. “Be quiet!” Neal waits a moment before taking his hand away.  
“I’m gonna go check it out. You stay here, don’t move, don’t make a sound. You see anyone that’s not me you run, ok?”  
“Okay?” He says again, when Dom doesn’t respond.  
“But-” Dom starts again, confusion has definitely won over amusement. Before Neal can say anything else the floor boards creak again, louder this time.  
“Shit!” Dom hisses.  
“Hey!” Neal tightens his grip on Dom’s arm. “Just do what I said, alright?”  
“…Alright.”

Neal inches forward, careful to keep his steps silent. There’s definitely someone moving around upstairs, the noises are a lot more distinct now. As Neal creeps towards the bottom of the stairs something above him begins thumping. After a few minuets the thumping stops abruptly and Neal freezes halfway up the stairs. For a few, tense moments theres silence, before the unmistakable sound of Neal’s door being yanked open rips through the house, promptly followed by the sound of footsteps.   
Neal has time to realise that he should’ve gotten the hell out of here the instant he realised there was someone in the house and whatever happens next is entirely his fault, before a figure materialises on the landing. The house is dark, the short winter days coupled with the fact the lights are all off making the house dingy, but even in the dim light he recognises the face of Alan Woodford staring back at him.  
Several things happen at once, Woodford yells and launches himself at Neal, who turns on his hells and leaps down the stairs. He lands running, and, grabbing Dom by the arm on the way past, wrenches the door open and sprints into the Parisian evening.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so, I'm gonna be honest, it is 2 o'clock in the morning and I'm on holiday so this has not been quite as proof read as I would've liked, if you see a mistake let me know :)
> 
> I'd also like to say that I know my updates have been somewhat sporadic and unfortunately that's unlikely to change but I'll try not to keep you all waiting too long and I really, really appreciate everyone's patience. 
> 
> So with that, enjoy chapter five.

“State your name for the record, please.”  
“Uh, warden Jonathan Marsh, uh, Ma’am.”  
“And, you were the warden who signed over the prisoner for transfer, weren’t you?”  
“Well, yes, but…” The warden, a young blond man, shifts uncomfortable in his seat. “Look, man, I was just doing my job okay!”  
“That’s funny!” Agent Jessica Samson plants her hands on the table and looms over Marsh. “I could’ve sworn your job was to make sure that felons stayed in prison, not to help them escape!”

From behind the safety of the two way mirror Peter allows himself a smirk. Jess, despite being a good two feet shorter than Peter, is an intimidating young woman. What she lacks in stature she more than makes up for in presence. Jess is a short, stocky woman, with silky dark hair and one of the most intense death glares Peter has ever been subjected to.   
Jess is a good agent, a little green, but Jones is training her well. Peter had been hoping to work with her more closely, just not under these circumstances. 

Faced with the full force of Jess’s scrutiny Marsh cracks pretty quickly. His story is the same as every other warden they’ve spoken too. Two men, dressed like marshals, approached him claiming there was a threat against a prisoner and they were there to transfer them to another prison. They showed the warden ID and paperwork and talked their way into being allowed to transfer every member of the Pink Panthers to a minimum security prison. Each time they came in with a group who appeared to be actual marshals and put their prisoner on a legitimate prison transfer bus. This coupled with targeting inexperienced wardens allowed them to pull off a prison break with relative ease.

“Well that was a waste of time!” Jess declares, hands planted on her hips.  
Their gathered in the conference room having released Marsh a few minutes earlier. Jess, unfortunately is right, aside from ID-ing the “marshal’s” he spoke to from a sketch based on the other warden’s descriptions Marsh’d given them nothing useful. 

“How’s that ID coming anyway?” Peter asks, they’re running the sketches through every facial rec database they can think of, and then some.   
Tessa, another of Jones’s team, pulls a face. “Nothing so far, sorry boss. The sketches are still running though, we might still get a hit.”  
“Great.” Peter sighs. “Someone please give me some good news.”  
“Please?” Peter scans the room slightly desperately. The other occupants, Jess, Tessa and the final member of Jones’s team, Max shift awkwardly, avoiding Peters gaze. He takes that as a bad sign.   
“Right.” He says. “Tessa, I want you to carry on trying to get an ID off the sketch, go chase the IT guys if you have to. Jess, Max, I’ve got some more witnesses from the prison break coming in I want you guys on interviews. I’m going to check in with Jones.”

 

“Tell me you’re getting somewhere.”   
“Well, the riots over. The warden’s still swamped but they let me look at their security feed, I’m going over it now.”  
“Good, let me know if you find anything.”  
“Will do. Hey, you want me to email over a copy? Maybe the tech guys’ll find something I won’t.”  
“Yeah, good idea.” Peter says, “any news from the Marshals?”  
Jones sighs heavily down the phone. “They’ve got people out canvassing but so far, nothing. Katie said something about pulling traffic cams, she’s hopeful we can get plates, or at least a make/model .”  
“Great, if we can get an APB out we might still be in with a chance of stopping this before it gets out of hand.”  
“You think that’s a possibility?” Jones asks, sounding a little incredulous.  
“No” Peter sighs, “but I can hope!”  
Jones laughs.   
“I’d better get back to this, there’s a lot of footage to trawl though.”  
He sounds distinctly unenthusiastic at this prospect, not that Peter can really blame him.   
“Tell you what” Peter says, making no attempt to disguise his amusement “I’ll see if Tessa’s done dealing with witnesses and send her over to give you a hand, yeah?”  
“Thanks Peter.” Jones says, dryly. “Hey, did you speak to Diana?”  
“Yeah” Peter says, “she’s got a few things to sort out in DC but, she’s got a flight booked for the end of the week.”  
“Yeah?” Jones perks up at this “God, how has long it been”  
“Too long”  
“You can say that again!” Jones says, “I know the circumstances are awful but, it is good to get the gang back together isn’t it?”  
“Yeah” Peter says, “It is.”  
“Only one missing now’s Caffrey. Or Mozzie”  
“Oh no. No the _last_ thing this situation needs is Mozzie!” Peter groans. Paranoia and conspiracy theories are not something Peter wants to add to this train-wreck, but he has the horrible feeling that Jones just jinxed it.

 

It’s late when Peter’s phone rings, although you wouldn’t know it from the state of the office. He’s seen the bullpen less crowded in the middle of the day. He falters a little when he realises its his cell phone ringing, not the office phone and again when doesn’t recognise the number, which means either someone important is trying get in touch or that someone is trying to sell him PPI. Still, he reasons, its probably not worth risking missing something important besides, those people usually at least have the decency to confine their calls to normal business hours.

“Hello.” Peter growls, fully prepared to bite the head off an unsuspecting tele-marketer. Instead, he’s met by silence.   
Well no, not quite silence, there’s clearly someone on the other end of the line. Peter can hear the unmistakable sounds of a city, or at least traffic. If it weren’t for the fact Peter can hear breathing down the other end he’d’ve thought someone had pocket dialled him. As is, he’s beginning to think this is some sort of prank, a really, really creepy prank.

“Hello? Who is this?” It’s more of a demand than a question.  
Peter’s not sure what he was expecting to hear in response to this but it definitely was not a stream of rapid fire French. Peter’s half way through trying to string together enough French to say “I don’t speak French” and “I’m sorry sir, I think you have the wrong number” when it strikes him that he _knows_ that voice.

“Neal!” Peter blurts, his brain too short circuited to say anything else.  
There’s a sharp intake of breath from Neal’s end, quickly followed by another stream of French. Peter still can’t understand a word he’s saying, but his voice alone tells him two things, 1) it is, 100% without a doubt Neal on the other end of the line. Even in a differently language and distorted by the sound of traffic and static Peter knows his voice almost as well as he knows his own and 2) this is not a social call. Peter doesn’t need to know what he’s saying to tell Neal’s scared, his voice bleeds barely contained panic, his words running together so much Peter’s not even sure he’d be able to understand him in English.

“Hey, _hey! Neal!_ ” Peter raises his voice, cutting him off.   
“Hey, buddy.” He says when Neal falls silent, “I don’t speak French.”

Neal lets out a shaky breath and starts to speak again, Peter’s about to re-iterate that he doesn’t understand when it hits him, that actually he does. Of course the only thing he managed to learn from five years of French lessons was how to cuss he thinks, biting back a laugh, as Neal spits out another handful of swear words.  
After a moment Neal’s falters, his words tumbling into silence. 

“Peter.” Neal breaths his voice uncharacteristically brittle.   
“Peter I need your help.” His voice rises, gaining strength as he starts to speak again. “I know I’ve got no right ask this Peter, after everything I’ve done. I’m probably the last person on Earth you want to help and I wouldn’t blame you if you hung up right not but there’s no one else I can go to and I-“  
“Hey, hey Neal calm down! I’m not going to hang up okay? Just, tell me what happened.” Peter cuts him off, gently but firmly taking control of the situation. Letting his training take over so he doesn’t have to think about the lump in his throat or the ache in his chest.   
“The panthers.” Neal says, “they found me.”  
“Shit” Peter breaths.  
Neal laughs humourlessly in response.  
“What do you need me to do?” Peter asks. “I figured you’d have an exit strategy.”  
“I did” Neal says. “But it was only meant for me.”  
“So?”  
“There was someone with me, when the panthers found me. I can’t leave him here Peter. I can’t risk anyone getting hurt because of me, but none of my plans accounted for two people and I don’t have time make new ones not, properly. Besides, I was planning to run but, that’s not- that’s not an option anymore.”  
“Ok.” Peter takes a breath, steadying himself. “Ok. Where are you?”  
“France.” Neal says. “We’re heading towards Belgium now, so far we’re not being followed.”  
“Ok, great. Neal, I need you to carry on doing what you’re doing. Put as much distance between you and the panthers as you can, stay off the grid. I’ve got some contacts in interpol, I’m gonna call in some favours, get one of them to meet you, they’ll be able to get you out of the country without the panther’s knowing.”  
“Thank you, Peter.” The sincerity in Neal’s voice takes him a little by surprise.  
“Don’t thank me yet.” Peter tells him. There’s a million things he wants to say to Neal. He wants to ask why, he wants to ask where he’s been these past two years, he wants to tell Neal everything that’s happened to him, he wants Neal to tell him about all the adventures he’s been on, he want’s to ask if it was worth it.   
Instead, he says, “keep your phone on, I’ll call you,” and hangs up.


	6. Chapter 6

The first thing Peter does when he gets off the phone with Neal is ring his contact in interpol partly to make arrangements for Neal and partly to set interpol after the panthers, there’s a good chance they’re still in Paris, and that they don’t know that Peter knows that. In short its the best chance they’ve had of finding the panthers since this whole thing started. Next he call’s Jones, telling him to rouse the rest of the team, most of whom went home hours ago, and meet him in the board room. Lastly, calls his wife.

“Neal called you?” El asks.  
“Yeah, he did.”  
“Well that’s good. Isn’t it?” She’s starting to pick up on Peter uneasiness, he can practically   
“Yeah, yeah it is.”  
“Well then, honey what’s wrong?”  
Peter sighs, “he sounded scared El, really scared.”  
“Oh Peter” El says, her voice low and soothing. “I know you’re worried about him, but this is Neal we’re talking about. He’ll be okay.”  
“I don’t know, El, I’ve never heard Neal sound like that before.”  
“Of course he’s scared, Peter, he’s not an idiot. But he’s Neal, he’ll be okay. Besides, he’s been on the run before.”  
“No, he hasn’t.” Peter insists. “Not like this, the panthers they- It was different when I was chasing him El, it was a game. A game with pretty high stakes but, he knew I’d never hurt him.”  
“And he know’s the panthers will.” El finishes.   
“Yeah” Peter says. “And now he’s freaking out.”  
“If I recall, Neal’s rather good at getting himself out of tight spots, no matter how much he’s freaking out.”  
“I know, I know, I guess worrying about Neal’s been my job for so long I’m not sure how to-“ he’s interrupted by someone rapping on office door. Jone’s is standing on the other side, other agents starting to trickle into the bullpen below him.  
“I’m sorry, El, I’ve gotta go.”

They set their sights on Paris, the main goal being to figure out what alias the panthers are using in the hopes that they’ll be able to track them. Which seems like a pretty good lead until it’s four days later and they still can’t even confirm the panthers were ever _in_ France let alone where they are now and Peter’s starting to feel increasingly useless. The reality of Neal’s fast approaching return is is rather daunting, even more so now because no matter how much he hates the idea, he can’t quite shake the thought that the only way they’re going to catch the panthers is if they bring Neal in on it. As his friend, Peter wants to whisk Neal off to a safe house the moment he steps foot in the country and not let him out of his sight. As an FBI agent he can’t help but see all the ways having Neal on their team would help this case, and they really _do_ need the help. 

 

There were a lot of things Diana was expecting when she got off her flight from DC, but a cryptic phone call from Peter telling her they needed to talk wasn’t one. So, instead of heading to the hotel, they head to the Burke’s. Diana pauses, momentarily on the porch of the townhouse, behind her Dani shivers against the New York winter and Theo practically vibrates with excitement. It’s probably a good thing they’re doing this now instead of tomorrow, maybe now she’ll be able to get Theo to sleep tonight. He hasn’t stopped talking about “uncle Peter” and “aunty El” since Diana announced this trip.   
Peter opens the door an instant after she knocks and Diana gets the impression he was waiting for her.   
“Hi boss!” Diana grins at him.  
“How’ve you been?” Peter asks, pulling her into a hug.  
“Not bad, not bad.” She says.   
She’s about to ask him what the hells going on when Jones strolls out of Peter’s living room and Diana allows her attention to be drawn to him, instead.  
“Well hey there partner!” Jones exclaims, bounding down the hallway to greet her.  
“Clinton Jones!” Diana beams.  
“You’re looking good.” Jones tells her, when they’re done hugging.  
“Not looking to bad yourself.” She winks at him.  
behind her she’s vaguely aware of Peter scooping Theo up and grinning sappily as he babbles about aeroplanes.   
“So,” Diana says, leaning over to Jones as they make their way into the living room, “You know what this is about?”  
“Was kinda hoping you could tell me.”  
Before Diana can reply she’s being bustled into the kitchen and handed coffee.   
Peter catches her up on the case so far, which is, basically nothing. The security footage confirmed what they already knew, the four of them had incited a riot, jumped a guard and escaped out of a service exit to a waiting car. A car they’d found burnt out a field 100 or so miles from the prison. They had at least managed to pull tire tracks from the field to determine the type of car they’d left in, an old model Ford Focus. Which might have been useful, if there weren’t hundreds of the damned things in the city alone, despite having every law enforcement agent in the country looking out for their car, Diana doesn’t hold much hope of actually finding it.

“So, basically” Diana says, bluntly, “we’re getting nowhere?”  
“Basically” Jones snorts.   
Peter, on the other hand, shifts uncomfortably and clears his throat.  
“Well, actually” he says, cautiously, “I um, _might_ have a lead”  
“Peter” Diana says, her voice low, “what’s going on?” 

Diana regrets asking this question almost immediately.  
“I’m sorry, what?”  
“Neal’s… Uhh..”  
“Alive?”  
“Yeah.”  
“… I’m gonna kill him.” Diana says, flatly. “Peter, you’d better not let me near him because I swear to god I’m going to make him _wish_ the panthers found him first!”  
“Diana.”  
“Don’t! Peter, Don’t “Diana” me. He let us thing that he was dead for two years! I grieved for him, Peter, we all did, and he was out there, all that time laughing at our stupidity! And now he expects us to just, what drop everything and help him? You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

Peter grimaces a little at this. “Look” he says carefully. “I’m not going to defend Neal and I get that you’re angry. You have every right to be angry. But the Panthers will kill Neal, and no matter what he’s done, he doesn’t deserve that.”

Diana scowls at him, and Peter sighs.  
“This isn’t an order, Diana. I won’t make you help him, or work with him, either of you if you don’t want to but, I am asking you. If you can’t do it for Neal, do it for me.”   
“Tell me one thing”  
“Anything.”  
“Why, Peter? Why are you so adamant on helping him? Out of all of us, he hurt you the most!”

Peter sighs, shrugging a little as he reaches for the words. “He’s family, Diana.”  
“Seriously? After everything he put you through?”  
“Yeah.” He says, softly. “I know Neal, I have to believe he had a reason, a _real_ reason for doing what he did. Even if he didn’t, he’s still family, I’m not going to turn my back on him now.”  
“I’ve been looking out for him, you know?” Peter continues off her unimpressed look. “Ever since I found out I’ve been watching for something that’s got Neal Caffrey written all over it and I’ve come up empty, every time.”  
“You think Caffrey’s gone legit?” Jones asks, sounding a little sceptical.  
“I don’t know” Peter admits, “he could’ve just gotten better at covering his tracks. But, I’d like the chance to find out.”  
“Alright.” Diana says. “But I’m doing this because you asked, Peter, not because I give a damn what happens to Caffrey.”  
“Fair enough.” Peter says. “Jones?”  
Jones shrugs indifferently “if anyone can help us catch the panthers it’s Caffrey.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so it's been ages since I updated! But this is the moment you have all been waiting for and this chapter is twice as long as my usual updates so I hope you can forgive me for how long I've made you wait!

Peter’s been waiting for this all day and he still jumps when the door bell rings. Taking a breath he makes himself walk calmly to the door, when he reaches it he freezes, hand hovering above the handle, breathing shakily. He’s know Neal’s alive for a long time, but knowing he’s out there somewhere is very different to having him standing in front of him, he’s not sure how to feel anymore.  
The bell ringing breaks him out of his trance. Before his brain can catch up he yanks the door open and steps back to let his guests in and suddenly Neal’s _here_ in front of him, and nothing else matters. He barely even notices Neal’s friend, part of Peter insists he’s being rude not even greeting the man but he can’t quite bring himself to care. 

Instead he strides over to Neal, who’s standing in the middle of the hallway looking like a deer in the headlights, and pulls him into a hug. Neal tenses as Peter wraps his arms around him, and Peter starts to draw back only to find Neal’s arms wrapping around his waist.   
Peter hugs him harder than is probably necessary but Neal doesn’t seem to mind.  
“Damn, it’s good too see you!” Peter tells him, giving Neal a squeeze and starting to lean back. He’s not entirely sure how he expected Neal to respond to that, but it certainly wasn’t by clamping his arms round his waist and pressing his face into his shoulder.  
“Hey? Neal?” Peter laughs uncertainly, running a hand along his friends back. “You okay?”  
Neal nods into Peter’s shoulder and doesn’t move.

“I missed you.” Neal says finally, letting go of Peter and taking a step back.   
“Yeah” Peter says, “I, uh, I missed you too.”  
Neal gives him a faint smile, it’s not fake per se, but he looks sad.   
“Hey! Come on, it’s gonna be alright.” He says, clapping Neal on the shoulder. Neal leans into him, slightly and nods.  
“Yeah, I know.” His gaze rests on Peter, his eye’s starting to light up now. Peter wonders what Neal see’s when he looks at him, whatever it is Peter figures it’s good when Neal’s face cracks into a grin, Peter grins back at him. 

Everything about Neal’s the same, but also different. The designer suits are gone, instead Neal’s wearing a pair of fitted jeans and a longish coat, stylish but not exactly out of the ordinary. His hair’s different too, shorter than Peter’s seen it before, and lighter. It’s not blond, but it was definitely a few shades darker the last time he saw Neal. Other than that he looks pretty much the same, same bright blue eyes, same cocky grin, same aura of _Neal_.  
There’s always been something magnetic about Neal, something that catches your eye and draws you in. Something that makes you want to just keep on looking at him forever. The same something, Peter suspects, that’s made so many people want to give him all their money, but then, Neal wouldn’t be Neal without it. 

Peter’s just as drawn to Neal now as when they first met. More so, probably because he knows the man beneath the charade. It’s because he knows Neal so well that he know’s something’s off, but, Peter reminds himself, he’s just gotten off a seven hour flight and several very dangerous people want him dead. It’s not really surprising if Neal’s a little off balance and Peter figures that interrogating him can at least wait until they have coffee. 

Neal clears his throat, “Oh, Peter, this is Dominic.” He nods to his companion.   
“You can call me Dom, everyone else does.” Dom is tall, probably around Peter’s height, and lean. He’s wearing ripped jeans and a slightly oversized black jumper with what Peter assumes is some sort of band insignia on it. His hair’s auburn, shaved short on the sides and longer on top in a style that’s fashionable amongst young people these days. His eye’s, magnified slightly by large black glasses, are a similar colour to Neal’s. Although he can’t be _that_ much younger than Neal, something about him screams “student.” He’s also, apparently, British.   
“Peter Burke.” He says, offering Dom his hand. Dom hesitates for just a second, glancing at Neal, then at Peter’s hand, before shaking it.   
“It’s, um, nice to meet you” Dom says.  
“Given the circumstances I’m sure you’d have preferred not to.”  
“Well, no offence” Dom says apologetically.   
Peter laughs. “Why don’t we move this somewhere more comfortable, I’m sure you could both use some coffee.”  
Dom pulls a face and Neal rolls his eyes. “ _I_ could use some coffee!”  
This time Dom rolls _his_ eyes. “You could use sleep!”  
“I’m fine.” Neal insists.   
“He’s not. “ Dom says, Peter assumes Dom’s talking to him but it’s kind of hard to tell because he’s not _looking_ at Peter. “He drank about a gallon of coffee on the plane, I think if he drink’s any more he’s actually going to die!”   
Neal shoves Dom lightly. “He’s exaggerating!” Neal says, and slings his arm through Peters, pulling gently towards the kitchen.   
“Uh-huh.” Peter says, but he pours decaf into Neal’s mug when they reach the kitchen.

Dom sprawls in a chair absently rolling his shoulders, gaze wandering over the room with a wide eyed wonder. His eyes scuttling over the furnishings like Peter’s stove is the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. Peter suppresses a long suffering sigh, half-heartedly hoping Neal hasn’t brought him another Mozzie.   
Neal himself hovers by the table, his eyes on Peter. 

“Here.” Peter holds a mug out to him, Neal blinks his eyes flicking to the cup for a second before he takes it.  
“Thanks.” He says. When Peter turns back to had a mug of tea to Dom Neal’s still standing there, staring intently at his coffee.   
“Neal?”  
“Yeah?”  
“You can sit down, you know?”  
“Right” Neal blinks.  
“Neal?” Peter squints at him.  
“Sorry.” Neal flashes him an apologetic smile as he slides into a chair, “it was a long flight.”  
“What’s going on with you, Neal?” Peter asks, focusing his all too familiar gaze on Neal and squinting suspiciously at him.   
Neal blinks, eyebrows furrowing and the corners of his mouth turning up in confusion. “People are trying to _kill_ me Peter, and everyone I care about! In case you’ve forgotten!”  
“That’s it?” Peter asks, “that’s all that’s up?”  
“That’s not enough?” Neal asks, his voice rising incredulously.   
“Alright.” Peter concedes, “fair point.”  
They lapse into silence after that, Neal staring intently at his hands, wrapped around Peter’s mug. Peter finds himself watching Neal, still trying to process that Neal’s here, alive and sitting in front of him. It’s Dom who breaks the silence. 

 

“So, uh, what happens now?” Dom asks, head tipped slightly to the side, eyes fixed firmly on Peters fridge.  
“Now the FBI’s gonna keep you safe.”  
“I think I can live with that!” Dom says.   
“That wasn’t an answer, Peter.”  
“El’s parents have a cabin, it’s being used as a temporary safe house. I’ll drive you both up there in a few hours, if you want. You can stay there till this all blows over.”  
“What’s option number two?” Neal smiles impishly at him.  
“Stay here.” Peter says. “Help me catch them.”  
“It’ll be just like old times!” Neal grins.  
“So you’ll do it?”  
“Did you _really_ think I was going to say no?” Neal laughs.   
“Not for a second.”  
“Yeah, that’s great an all, but uh, what happens to me, if he stays here?” Dom interrupts   
“Peter’ll drive you to the safehouse later, right?”  
“Yeah.” Peter says. “Don’t worry, you’ll be safe there.”  
Dom nods, then frowns. “What about Vi-Neal?”  
Peter wonders briefly what Dom’d been about to call Neal. “I’ll keep him safe.”   
“If it’s all the same with you, I’d rather stay.”  
“What? No, Dom, let Peter protect you.”  
“He just said he would!”  
“He said he’d keep _me_ safe Dom.”  
“Yes, and between the two of you I’m sure you can keep me safe too!” After a second of Neal pouting at him he sighs. “You owe me an explanation, Vic.”  
Neal sighs, his shoulders slumping. “If I tell you will you let Peter take you to the safe house?”  
“I will.” Dom nods. “But not tonight, I want to actually be awake for this conversation.”  
“Alright.” Neal nods, looking slightly relived.   
“Alright” Dom says, turning towards Peter. “So uh, I could really use a shower and, I get the impression that you guys want to talk so…”  
“Right, yeah, upstairs, second door on the left.” 

 

“So.” Peter says, turning back to Neal. “Vic, huh? Sound’s like you’ve been busy.”  
“That’s one way of putting it.” Neal says.   
“How’ve you been, Neal.”  
“Oh Peter, don’t.”  
“Don’t what? Neal?”   
“Don’t pretend we’re okay.”  
“You really wanna do this now?”  
“You don’t?”  
“Not really.” Peter admits.   
Neal slumps back in his chair, when he speaks his voice is quiet. “I need to know where we stand, Peter.”  
“Fine” Peter says, not unkindly. “Alright, no, Neal we’re not okay. You lied to me. Again.”  
“I’m sorry, Peter.”  
“No.” Peter says, “I don’t want you to be sorry Neal. I want you to tell me why.”  
“You don’t know?” Neal asks softly.  
“I want to hear it from you.”  
Neal runs a hand over his face and shakes his head. “There’s nothing I could tell you that wouldn’t feel like an excuse, Peter, and I don’t want to make excuses. Not for this.”

“How about you start with the truth.”  
“Peter”  
“No. Neal. No don’t, alright this is not a request. Tell me why.”  
“What do you want me to say Peter?” Neal pushes himself back into his chair, spreading his hands. “I didn’t think I had a choice, okay.”   
“There’s always a choice, Neal.”  
“I didn’t think I had any good choices. Peter I was scared, I knew the panther’s would figure out what I did and, I thought they’d come after me, I thought they’d come after you and I just, I couldn’t deal with that.”  
“So that’s why you ran? To protect me?” Peter asks dryly.   
Neal nods. “I thought if I was dead, killed by one of their own no less, then they’d think they’d already gotten their revenge.”  
“That worked out spectacularly didn’t it.”  
Neal drops his gaze. “Well they didn’t come after you” he mutters.”  
“Why didn’t you come to me Neal?” Peter sighs. “The FBI could’ve protected you, the FBI could’ve protected both of us!”  
“Yeah” Neal says bitterly, “because wit sec has worked out so well for my family in the past! Besides we both know the FBI was part of the reason I ran.”  
“You were nearly free! Just a few more weeks and you would’ve been a free man.” Peter gestures in frustration, throwing his hands in the air.  
“Peter they were never gonna let me go! I was too valuable, they would’ve just kept on finding reasons to keep me on leash! Look, I know your faith in the FBI is unshakable, but mine isn’t, I didn’t trust them to keep their deal and I, I needed out.” Neal’s voice drops off .   
“You know I would’ve fought for you.”  
“I do, Peter, I know you would’ve done everything you could but I don’t know if it would’ve been enough and I couldn’t take that chance!” Neal says, his voice rising slightly as he talks.   
Peter can see how hard he’s fighting for composure and the part of him that’s always been protective of Neal urges him to drop it, but he knows he can’t.   
“That’s it? That’s why you let me believe you died?”  
He nods, eyes downcast   
“You hurt me, Neal.”  
“I know.” Neal’s voice is choked, and Peter winces slightly at that.   
“Do you, though? I thought you died. I thought I _watched_ you die! Do you have any idea what that felt like?”  
Neal turns away, refusing to meet Peter’s gaze and shakes his head. Peter shifts intending to make Neal look at him, but when he does manage to meet Neal’s eyes he realises Neal wasn’t trying to avoid Peters question he was trying to avoid letting Peter see him cry.   
“Hey, hey.” Peter steps forward and rests a hand on Neal’s shoulder. Neal leans into him a little and Peter draws his arms around Neal’s shoulders pulling him into a hug.   
“I’m sorry” Neal says, his voice slightly muffled.  
“I know.” He runs his hand along Neal’s back gently, before stepping back.   
“I still don’t know where we stand Peter.” Neal says quietly.   
Peter sighs. “You’re family, Neal. I’m not sure there’s anything you could do that would change that but you still hurt me and I need time to get over that.”  
Neal nods, eyes downcast.   
“I’m glad you’re alright, Neal.” He says gently. “It really is good to see you again.”  
Neal smiles slightly at that and nods. “You too, Peter.”  
“When was the last time you slept?”  
“What?” Neal blinks.  
“No offence” Peter says, “but you look like you could use some rest, why don’t you go upstairs for a bit? We can talk later.”  
Neal takes a breath and runs a hand across his face, nodding. “Alright.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter being long(ish) totally makes up for it having taken me like three weeks to update, right.... Right? 
> 
> Probably not, sorry guys, I wish I could tell that the updates were going to get less sporadic but unfortunately university. I will keep updating as often as I can, and I thank you all for reading!

It’s early when Peter wakes, the curse of being an FBI agent he supposes. Neal apparently suffers the same fate because when Peter steps into the kitchen, on a devout mission for coffee, he find’s Neal, standing over the hob pouring egg into a frying pan. Neal’s barefoot, wearing a pair of sweat pants and a white T-shirt, from the way his hair’s sticking up Peter guesses he hasn’t been awake very long either. He’s about to call out a greeting when he realises Neal’s singing, softly to himself. 

_“If I could face them,_  
if I could make amends with all my shadows,   
I’d bow my head,   
and welcome them” 

Peter’s heard Neal sing before, more than once, but not like this, this isn’t a performance, it isn’t meant for anyone but Neal and that’s not something Peter’s seen very often. Objectively he’s heard Neal sing better than this, Neal’s voice is pleasant. Peter’s not sure it could be anything else, but he’s clearly concentrating more on, what Peter assumes is going to be an omelette, than on what’s coming out of his mouth and, although he doesn’t recognise the song, Peter’s fairly sure it was original sung by a woman. A fact Neal’s vocal range clearly doesn’t appreciate. 

_“But I feel it burning,_  
Like when the winter wind,  
Stops my breathing.” 

There’s an intimacy in this scene that Peter’s wholly unprepared for. He’s always been good at bringing down Neal’s walls, or at least seeing over them but it’s one thing to bring Neal’s walls down, it’s another entirely for Neal to take them down willingly.   
It hit’s Peter then, that this, _this_ is what’s off about Neal. He’s still guarded sure, he’s Neal, but some of the defences that were there last time Peter saw him have come down. 

_“Are you really gonna love me_  
when I’m gone?  
I fear you won’t,   
I fear you don’t-” 

Neal cuts himself off abruptly. “I know you’re there, Peter.”  
Peter blinks, and then shrugs lightly. “You want coffee?” He asks, stepping into the kitchen.  
“Sure.” Neal says. “As long as it’s not _decaf_ this time!”   
Peter laughs.   
“You want breakfast?” Neal asks, nodding to the frying pan.   
“If you’re offering.”  
Neal tosses a handful of tomatoes into the pan and Peter digs out a pot of El’s Italian coffee, for a while they clatter around the kitchen in silence. 

“So.” Peter says, leaning against the counter next to Neal. “We’ve got some catching up to do.”  
“I guess we do, don’t we?”  
“How’ve you been, Neal?” Peter asks. This time Neal smiles and ducks his head, looking faintly embarrassed.   
“I got a job.” Neal says. “I got a job, and I rented an apartment.”  
“A job… You faked your death to get a job.”  
“It wasn’t planned Peter, I didn’t, I didn’t have any of this in mind when I left New York I just, needed to get away.”  
“What did you have in mind?”  
“I wanted to travel.” Neal shrugs. “I _did_ travel, for a while but somehow I kept finding myself back in Paris. One thing lead to another I guess.”   
“You really did it then? You really gave up the con?”  
“As much as someone like me can.”  
“You didn’t rob the Louvre.” Peter says, softly.  
“No.” Neal laughs. “I was _going_ to. I had the whole thing planned out for months, it would’ve been _flawless!_ Then every time I went to actually do it I’d hear _you!_ And I kept making excuses to put it off, telling myself it was too risky, too high profile but, eventually I realised that I’m just not that guy any more.”   
“You really mean that?”  
“Yes, Peter, I do.” Neal smiles sadly. “I won’t ask you to believe me, but I intend to prove it to you. To everyone.”   
“I do believe you, Neal.   
“You do?” Neal asks, his face lighting up.  
“Yeah. So, come on, tell me about your life in Paris.”  
Neal shrugs nonchalantly. “There’s not much to tell really. I got a job at a gallery, it’s not a big one, but it’s got a nice collection. And it pays the bills.”  
Peter snorts. “That’s not something I ever thought I’d hear coming out of _your_ mouth!”  
“Yeah, you and me both!” 

The conversation pauses there, while Neal turns his attention back to plating up breakfast. Once they’re both seated at the table Peter, around a mouthful off egg, leans forward and says.

“So, how’d you meet Dom?”  
“The gallery.” Neal says. “He’s an art student, he likes to sketch from our paintings. You know me, I’m a people person.” Neal grins impishly, making Peter laugh.   
“So that’s it then, he just a guy? He’s not, a con artist or a forger?”   
“No Peter.” Neal says amusement in his eyes. “We got talking about art one day and just, never stopped.”   
“Uh-huh.” Peter says. “He any good?”  
“Yeah.” Neal nods. “He is, actually. Probably better than me, if we’re being honest.”  
“Now that I don’t believe!” Peter exclaims.  
“Sure.” Neal shrugs. “I can recreate a painting so perfectly the artist himself wouldn’t be able to tell them apart but real art is an extension of the artist. Every painting’s a self portrait Peter, if you don’t know what you look like, you’ll never be able to create a thing.”  
“And you don’t?”  
Neal reaches for his coffee mug to avoid answering right away. “I’m starting to.”

Neal glances up, meeting Peter’s eyes and smiles, tentatively. 

“So tell me.” Neal says. “How’s parenthood treating you?”

Peter finds himself aiming the dopy grin he reserves for being asked about his son at Neal. 

“You know, I never thought I’d say this, but it’s probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”  
“Who’d’ve thought it? Peter Burke, going _soft!_ ”   
“Oi.” Peter nudges Neal, gently nocking their shoulders together. “ _I’m_ getting soft? What are we now, three-one?”  
Neal snorts, “getting _Mozzie_ to pass on a message does _not_ count as catching me!”  
“Yes it does!” Peter says indignantly. “I was using the resources available to me!”  
“ _Even_ if that were true, which it’s not! _I_ still came to _you_.”   
“Only because I passed on a warn-“ Peter cuts himself off when he notices Neal’s attention is no longer on him. Following his gaze he finds Dom standing in the doorway.  
“Hey.” Neal says, smiling up at him.   
“Morning.” Dom steps into the room, plonks himself into the chair opposite Neal and fixes an expectant gaze on him. 

Neal sighs. “I guess you want to talk now, don’t you?”  
“I do.”  
“Where do you want me to start?” Neal asks, his voice dry with resigned amusement.  
“The beginning.” Dom suggests. “Tell me who you are, who you really are, and how I ended up in an FBI agents house half way across the world.”  
“I was a con man.” Neal says. “A very long time ago. I went by the name Neal, Neal Caffrey, and Peter here arrested me.”

 

El’s parents cabin is a quaint two story building built onto a large plot of land. The inside is warm and homey and smells faintly of wood and spice. El greets him with a hug, wrapping him up in her unrestrained delight. 

“Oh sweetie, it’s so good to see you!” El says, squeezing his shoulders.   
Neal grins at her a little sheepishly, “you too, El.”  
“Alright.” Peter says, after kissing El briefly. “El this is Dom, he’ll be joining you guys for a while.”  
“Hi Dom.” El smiles widely at him.  
“Hi.” Dom flashes her a smile, his eyes flicking over the scene in front of him as if he’s trying to decide who or what to look at. He shifts a little, moving closer to Neal and flashing him a look that says “help me.”   
“He, El.” Neal says, smiling sweetly at her. “I could really use a coffee.”  
“Oh, of course.” El graciously leads them into the kitchen, a large open space with stone floors and an old fashioned stove. A woman, with dark skin and striking eyes, who Neal doesn’t recognise is leaning against a counter. She has a mug in her hands and is watching two little boys chase each other around the dining room table.   
“Neil!” El says, making them both start. It’s only when she strides towards the children and scoops one of them up that it dawns on Neal.  
“You… You named your kid Neal?” He blinks at Peter.  
“Whatever smart-ass comment you’re about to make save it!” Peter’s voice is gruff but Neal gets the impression that’s only to hide his embarrassment.  
“No!” Neal says, “no smart-ass comments I… Peter I. I’m honoured.”  
“Stop being a sap and come and say hello!” El says cheerfully and Neal obligingly steps over to her and his namesake who’s balanced on her hip.  
“Neil” El says brightly, “say hello to uncle Neal.”  
Neal grins, leaning down a little so he’s eye level with the child. “Hi Neil, nice name you’ve got there!”   
Peter snorts. Little Neil giggles, and twists in El’s arms pushing his face into her side.   
“Aww buddy, don’t be like that!” Neal says, before turning and stage whispering, “I don’t think he likes me very much” to Peter.  
“He’s just shy.” El says plopping him back on the floor. “No running in the kitchen boys!” El tells them.   
“Sorry aunty El!” The other child, who Neal recognises as Theo chants, looking appropriately chastised. Neil mumbles something that sounds like “yes mommy.” Before grabbing a toy train from the floor and running to Theo.   
El sighs.   
“So, you must be Neal Caffrey.” Mystery woman steps, forward scrutinising him.  
“I am.” He replies, treating her to a signature Caffrey smile. “To whom do I owe the pleasure.”  
He can practically _feel_ Peter rolling his eyes at him.   
“Dani Jackson.” She says. “I believe you know my girlfriend.”  
“Diana?”   
“That’s right.”  
“Wow.” Neal grins, “congratulations. Diana’s really something!”  
“That she is.” Dani agrees.   
“She’s mad at me, isn’t she.”  
“Put it this way kid, I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes.”   
Neal sighs, “I guess I deserve that.”  
“Yeah, you probably do.” She says. “Now I’d better go check the kids haven’t broken anything.” She squeezes El’s arm as she walks past, heading out of the kitchen and in the direction of the children.   
“Diana’ll come round” Peter says, putting a hand on Neal’s shoulder. “She just needs some time.”  
“We’ll see.” Neal says, flatly.   
“Right, enough of that, who wants coffee?”  
A few minuets later and the four of them are seated at the table with mugs of expensive coffee and home made cake and Neal’s telling El about one of the exhibitions at the gallery.   
“So, Dom.” She says, when Neal’s finished. “Tell us about yourself.”  
“Uh…” Dom’s gaze flicks back to Neal who smiles encouragingly. “There’s not much to tell really.” Dom shrugs. “I’m an art student.”  
“Oh?” El says, her eye’s lighting up slightly at that.   
Neal grins more than a little smugly as El draws Dom into a rather animated discussion about modern art. 

 

Unlike Neal, Peter is not quite so impressed with the current topic of conversation. Sighing he reaches for his mug and pushes himself to his feet, intending to dump it in the sink and claim another slice of cake, as he stands the chair he was sitting in gets shoved backwards, screeching loudly as it scraps along the floor. El starts slightly at the sudden noise and Neal’s head swings round, his expression faintly amused. Dom on the other hand flinches, clenching his hands into fists and clamping them against his ears. 

“Peter don’t scrape the chairs around like that, you’ll damage the floor.” El says.   
“Sorry hon.”   
“Mmmm” El says, her voice is disapproving but her eyes are fond. “Here” She says, snagging her own cup from the table. “Wash this up would you?”  
“Sure.” Peter says. As he collects the other cups he’s acutely aware of Neal leaning over to Dom and saying something he can’t make out. The tension drains out of Dom’s shoulders, and he grins at Neal, replying with something that makes him laugh. Neal responds by grinning back and patting him on the shoulder, which earns him another flinch, and almost getting smacked in the nose.   
“Shit! Sorry.” Neal jerks his hand off Dom’s shoulder.   
“Hey, Neal.” Peter interrupts before anyone else can say anything, “help me take this stuff to the skin would you?” He continues, ignoring the exasperated look Neal shoots him.   
“You boys do the washing up, we’ll go introduce Dom too Dani and the boys.” El says, gently linking arms with Dom and tugging him towards the living room.   
Neal joins Peter in clearing up. 

“He’s autistic, isn’t he?” Peter asks, and Neal almost drops the cup he’s drying.   
“What?”  
“Dom, I mean.” Peter clarifies.   
“I know who you meant, and the answer’s no. He’s not.”  
“Really?” Peter asks, a little more incredulously that is probably appropriate.  
“Yes really.” Neal says, looking faintly amused. “You’re close though.”  
“Oh well, that clears that up, thank you Neal.” Peter says sarcastically.   
Neal rolls his eyes. “He’s not autistic, he’s dyspraxic.”  
“Dys-what?” Peter asks, eye-brows furrowing.   
“Praxic” Neal says, and Peter has the vague idea that that has something to do with movement before Neal says. “It’s a coordination disorder.”  
“Doesn’t sound much like autism.” Peter comments.  
“You’d be surprised.” Neal shrugs, turning to place the mug in the cupboard. “It’s pretty similar, actually.”  
Peter nods, pensively. “So, the eye contact thing?”  
“The eye contact thing.” Neal nods.   
Peter hums, he probably would’ve carried on quizzing Neal but his thoughts are interrupted by El calling them.   
“Coming!” Peter calls back.   
“Well.” Neal says, “I guess we’d better go join the others then.”  
“I guess we had” Peter agrees, setting the last cup on the draining board and turning away from the sink, Neal casually loops an arm through Peter’s as they head out of the kitchen, gently tugging him towards the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neal's singing I of the storm by of monsters and men. 
> 
> Dyspraxia is a thing, a thing I have and that this fic will probably go into more, if you're interested though you can read more about it here http://www.dyspraxiafoundation.org.uk/dyspraxia-adults/


	9. Chapter 9

Neal had been more pleased than he cared to admit when he’d been greeted in the living room by an excited Satchmo, his absence from the Burke’s home had been weighing on Neal since he arrived. Feeling faintly ridiculous of how fond he is of the Burke’s Labrador he’d resisted the urge to ask. Confronted now, with the reality that Satchmo’s fine Neal had contentedly plopped himself on the floor and buried his face in the dogs fur. He’d been even more please when El had snagged a lead from somewhere and invited him to come for a walk with her. 

Neal of course recognised the invitation as a not very subtle ploy to get him alone. As such he’s not particularly surprised when she turns to him and says.   
“We need to talk.”   
“I know.” He says, and then, “you’re angry.”  
El sighs, “no, Neal. Not exactly.”  
“I’m sensing a but.”  
“You hurt Peter.” She says, her voice surprisingly calm.   
“I know.” Neal can’t quite keep the emotion from his voice.   
“Do you, Neal?” El demands. “You weren’t there, you didn’t see what loosing you did to him.”   
“I’m sorry.” Neal breaths.   
“I don’t want your apology, Neal.” El’s voice is razor sharp as she stops abruptly, turning to face him. “I want your word.”  
“My word on what?”  
“Your word that you will never hurt Peter like that again.”  
Neal doesn’t even hesitate,“I promise.”   
El nods. “Okay.”   
“Okay?” Neal blinks, “that’s it? Just, okay?”  
“Thank you.”   
“ _Thank you?_ ” Neal stares at her in disbelief.   
“I know you were trying to protect us, Neal. Peter might’ve been angry at the way you went about it, but I’m not Peter. I know what you gave up to keep us safe, to keep him safe. I want you to know I appreciate that.”  
For a moment all Neal can do is gape at her.   
“I also think you’d be lying if you said your motives were entirely selfless.”   
“I would.” He acknowledges.   
El nods again. “Did you tell Peter that, when he asked you why?”  
“I did.” Neal shifts a little under El’s scrutiny.   
“But you didn’t tell him everything.”  
Neal’s silent for a long time, and when he speaks, the words stick in his throat. “I couldn’t.”  
“Why not?” El’s voice is gentle and unlike Peter he’s sure if he asked her to leave it alone, she would.   
“It’s complicated.” He says. “Everything I told him, about wanting to protect him, about needing to get away, about not trusting the FBI, that was all the truth.”  
“But it wasn’t the whole truth.”  
Neal nods. “There are things about me.” He beings. “That Peter doesn’t understand.”  
“I know.” El says.  
“And Peter he, he wouldn’t understand that Neal Caffrey could never have be the person he wanted me to be. But, mostly, I was trying to protect him.”  
“Protect him from what?”  
“From knowing that he was part of the reason I ran.”   
“I don’t understand, Neal, why would Peter be part of the reason you faked your death?”  
“Its-“  
“Complicated?”  
Neal flashes her a wry. “Our relationship it, it sort of fell apart towards the end. Peter, he didn’t want me there, and, after all the crap I brought down on him… Well I thought it would be best for everyone if I wasn’t around anymore.”   
“Oh Neal no! Sweetie why on earth would think that Peter didn’t want you there?”   
Neal’s somewhat taken aback by El’s objection. “I… I heard him tell Jones.”  
“You heard him tell Jones what, exactly?”  
“To not take his place as my handler. He told Jones he’d regret it.”  
El’s expression hardens at that. “Does Peter know you heard that?”  
Neal shakes his head. “I may have… Ever so slightly, bugged him.”  
El sighs. “Neal, I can’t tell you _why_ Peter said that. I can tell you he didn’t mean it.”  
“Why wouldn’t he regret taking my deal? All I ever did was get him in trouble!”  
“Neal!” El’s voice is sharp, but not angry. “Look at me. Peter shouldn’t have said those things, even if he didn’t think you could hear them. And yes, Peter got in some tight spots when the two of you were partners but he didn’t regret taking your deal, not once.”  
“How can you know that?” He wants to believe her, he really does.   
“Because he loves you, Neal.”  
“I-I’m not sure I’d-“  
“He does. Believe me Neal, I know what my husband looks like when he loves someone.”  
“You should tell him, Neal.” She says, when his only response is stunned silence. “I think the only way you’ll be able to believe me is if you hear it from him.”   
“You’re probably right, but, then he’s going to want to know what else I didn’t tell him…”  
“Which is?”   
“I didn’t just leave because I thought it would be better for him. I needed it too.” Neal glances at El, afraid of her reaction to this revelation, but she just watches him, quietly waiting for him to carry on.   
“Peter has been, one of the most important people in my adult life, but sometimes he can be suffocating-“ Neal breaks off, tipping his head back and staring up at the sky. “Peter saw the good in me when no one else did, Peter believed in me when I couldn’t believe in myself and I needed that. But Peter he, he didn’t understand that I couldn’t be the person he wanted me to be because… He was working under the assumption that Neal Caffrey was a real person.”  
“He was wrong?”  
“Neal Caffrey was the creation of a terrified 18 year old who’s entire world had fallen out from under him. When I found out what my dad did I, I couldn’t deal with that so, I created someone who could.”  
“And that someone was Neal Caffrey.”  
He nods. “Neal could never be anything more than a con man because that’s what I created him to be. Peter, he made me want to be something more. He reminded me what it was like to be real.”  
“But he didn’t understand that you couldn’t be Neal Caffrey and be the person he wanted you to be?”  
“No.” Neal says, “he couldn’t. Neither could Mozzie, they were both pulling me in different directions, and neither of them understood that I couldn’t be the person they wanted me to be.”  
“They both thought they knew what was best for you.”  
“But neither of them stopped to _ask_ me.” Neal nods. “I needed to get away, from Peter, from Mozzie, from New York. I spent so much of my life being what other people wanted me to be that, I knew I had to get away, go some where new, where no one had any expectations of me if I wanted to know who I really was.”  
El nods pensively, and loops her arm through Neal’s. “Did you find out?”  
“I think I did.”  
“Then I’m glad you did what you did, Neal.” She squeezes his arm.   
“Thank you, El.” Neal leans into her a little.   
“Should I tell him?” He asks her, his voice soft.  
“Tell him the first part Neal, tell him he made you feel like he didn’t want you here. Yes!” She says as Neal starts to object. “It’ll hurt him, but he hurt you Neal, give him the chance to make that right.”  
“What about, the rest.”  
El sighs. “Don’t tell him that, don’t tell him you left because of him. He wouldn’t understand. It’d only hurt him.” 

 

To Peter’s dismay the first thing El had suggested when her and Neal returned was putting on a movie. Normally Peter would’ve been pretty happy with this idea, but the presence of two small children means he is once again being subjected to Studio Ghibli’s Spirited Away, a film Peter actually _likes_ , at least when his son isn’t insisting on watching it every two days. El and Dani curl up on the other sofa, leaning in together and chatting animately, Dom sprawls on the arm chair pushed up against the far wall, Neal perches on the arm closest to Dani and El and seamlessly integrates himself into their conversation. Dom, to Peter’s surprise appears to actually be watching the film.   
Suppressing a groan Peter tugs his phone out of his pocket and begins scrolling through his emails. When he glances up again, as El and Dani float past him, heading towards the kitchen Neil and Theo are sat on the floor in front of the TV playing dinosaurs. Neal has relocated to the now vacated couch and he and Dom, who’s still occupying the arm chair, are animately discussing post-modernism, both apparently oblivious to Peter’s presence. Normally this would be the point at which Peter tuned out, but, well, being nosy’s in his job description, and part of him is still trying to process having Neal back. Part of him still feel’s like, if he takes his eyes off Neal for more than a second he’s going to vanish all over again.   
At first he watches Neal, lounging, catlike, his movement’s fluid and graceful his face lit up with passion. It’s an achingly familiar look on Neal, Peter almost hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it. For a while he watches Neal, reminiscing, but after a while he finds his gaze drifting to Dom. Dom’s sitting with one leg curled underneath him and the other against his chest, his shoulders are pointed vaguely in Neal’s direction but his gaze is clearly fixed on something outside, he rocks gently, back and forth as he talks. He’s facing away from Peter, who’s sitting on the opposite couch. Peter finds himself wishing he could see Dom’s face because none of the body language he can read from here says he’s actually paying Neal any attention, but his voice is just as passionate as Neal’s, it’s a little louder too, although Peter get’s the impression that’s not intentional.   
Neal, surprisingly seems totally unfazed by all of this, and Peter watches, mesmerised as the two of them talk. 

“So, how’d someone with a coordination disorder end up in art school anyway?” He asks Neal, breaking the companionable silence that had stretched the first half hour of their drive back to the city.   
“What, you want Dom’s life story?” Neal asks.   
“No.” Peter huffs, “but I mean, that must make it hard, right?”   
“Yeah.” Neal shrugs, “I guess it does. Dom’s put a lot of work into his art.”   
Peter nods.   
“I saw you, earlier, you know.” Neal says after a moment.   
Peter shifts uncomfortably “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
“Peter I saw you watching us.” Neal snorts.   
Peter relaxes a little when he notices that Neal looks more amused than anything. “Well, it was you or that goddamn movie!”   
Neal laughs. “See anything interesting?”  
“I see why you like Dom so much.”  
“Oh?” Neal asks lightly and Peter smirks.   
“I didn’t think anyone but you got so excited about paintings!”  
“Actually, I think Dom gets more excited.” Neal says, his tone neutral.  
“How can you tell?” Peter asks  
“What.” Neal says. “ You can’t?”  
“Not really.” Peter admits.  
Neal hums thoughtfully. “He is pretty hard to read at first.”  
“You seem to manage it pretty well.”  
“Yeah, well, I’ve had two years to figure out how.”  
“Yeah?” Peter asks. “I bet that was a bit of shock, not being able to use your con man skills on someone.”  
Neal snorts. “Reading body language isn’t a con man skill Peter, it’s just a skill… But, yeah I guess it was. I didn’t realise how much I used it to make myself whoever other people wanted me to be, you know?”  
“No.” Peter says, twisting to look at Neal. “I don’t”  
“Oh my god Peter! Would you watch the _road!_ ” Neal yelps, and the conversation dissolves into familiar bickering over Peter’s driving "skills".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sort of in love with Elizabeth Burke tbh!


	10. Chapter 10

Neal shifts awkwardly under the collective weight of Peter’s teams gazes. The six of them are seated around Peter’s dining room table which is littered with case files and laptops. Peter, playing host for once is bustling around behind Neal making drinks.   
Diana looks, well frankly murderous, if looks could kill Neal’s pretty sure he’d be six feet under by now. Jones’s look of cold indifference isn’t much better either, Neal focuses instead on the new additions to the team. 

There’s three of them, two woman and a man. His eyes drift to the man, he’s tall, with blond hair, blue eyes and a stylish, albeit cheap suit. There are certain things Neal, even with all his “con man skills” doesn’t like to assume about people, and sexual orientation is usually one of them. On the other hand he knows what attraction looks like, and unless he’s very much mistaken Peter’s new probie is directing _that_ look at him. Naturally Neal takes the opportunity to aim the most charming smile he can muster in the kids direction and bites back laughter as he turns a very satisfying shade of red. The woman next to him, a shortish Asian-American lady wearing a less stylish cheap suit, rolls her eyes at him so hard Neal wonders briefly if Peter’s been giving her lessons. The third newbie, an averaged hight woman with dark hair pulled back into a messy bun and dark eyes, apparently didn’t get the message that this was a formal meeting because she’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt that Neal’s fairly sure is a reference to a TV show.   
Although, he reflects, given that he’s wearing a rather cheap pair of jeans and a borrowed sweater that, since it belongs to Peter is several sizes too big, he’s probably not really in the position to judge anyone on their wardrobe choices. 

“Right.” Peter deposits a mug of coffee in front of Neal as he pulls out a chair. “Lets get this started. Neal, you’ve probably noticed we’ve got some new faces.”   
“You don’t say.”   
Peter ignoring his comment continues. “This” He nods at the woman Neal’s been thinking of as Peter #2, “Is agent Jess Samson.” She smiles politely and nods at Neal.   
“Nice to meet you.” Neal tells her.   
“-Agent Tessa Brandon.” Casual Friday gives him a little wave and a somewhat awkward smile, Neal gives her a nod, and what he hope is a less awkward smile.   
“And last but not least Agent Max Tompson.”   
“Hi.” Max blushes again and Neal grins.   
“Well.” Neal says. “I’m sure you all know who I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you all, whatever Peter’s told you about me, it’s not true!” Neal drops his voice conspiratorially for the last part.   
“Neal.” Peter says, scowling at him. “Focus.”   
“Alright, alright. What’ve we got on the panthers?”  
“Wait.” Jess interrupts. “I know catching the panthers is important and everything but, why aren’t we arresting him?.. Uh, no offence.” She adds, somewhat less apologetically than Neal would’ve liked.   
Peter sighs and it hits Neal that no one is brushing that comment off. “Wait a minuet, that’s not an actual possibility, is it? _Peter?”_  
“No, Neal.” Peter says his voice gentle but firm. “I’m not gonna let that happen ok.”  
Diana snorts and Peter’s expression hardens slightly.   
“Did you break any laws, while you were in France? Any at all?”  
“What, you mean aside from the fact that my entire life there is built on identity fraud?”   
“Yes Neal, I mean aside from that.”  
“No.” Neal says softly.   
“Really?”   
“Come on Peter, do you really think I could’ve pulled anything off without you knowing?”  
‘Alright.” Peter says. “Then I’ve got a plan.”  
“A plan that doesn’t end with me going back to prison?”   
Peter nods. “But until then Neal’s involvement has to stay off the books. If anyone wants to leave now I’m not going to stop you, and I’m not going to hold it against you.”   
No body moves.   
“Alright.” Jones says. “I think that answers _that.”_   
“Alright.” Diana slams open a file and, talking more to the table than Neal, begins to run him through it’s contents, which, like every other file on the table turns out to be next to nothing. 

 

“Peter!” Jackson- no, Katie, smiles at him as he pulls up a chair. “this is a pleasant surprise.”  
“Katie, hi.” Peter starts. “Thank you for meeting with me.”  
“Well, as long as the coffee’s on you, right.” Katie grins.   
Peter obligingly pays for her coffee.   
“I need to ask you for favour” he says taking a seat opposite her.   
“That was quick.” Katie sighs. “what can I do for you agent Burke?”  
Peter shifts uncomfortably. “You remember our conversation about a certain con-man?”  
“I remember you telling me he was dead.”  
“Well, _technically_ I told you the files said he was-“ Peter breaks off his rather lame excuse. “I’m sorry, I was trying to protect a friend.”  
“You were protecting a criminal.” She says flatly.   
“No.” Peter says. “Neal hasn’t been a criminal for a long time.”  
“No? And he told you that, did he?”  
“He did.”  
“That’s sweet, agent Burke, the trust you have in your CI but-“  
“No.” Peter shakes his head. “I don’t trust him, and it’s _because_ I don’t trust him that I know he’s telling me the truth. I know Neal, I’ve spent most of my career chasing him, if he’d pulled anything, _anything_ , in the last two years I _would_ know about it.” It’s not true, Peter tells himself. He’s only doing this because as much as _he_ trusts Neal he’s still a criminal and Peter’s word carries more weight.   
“Alright.” Katie says. “I assume the reason you’re telling me this is that now that the panthers are out of prison they’re after Neal and he came to you for protection.”  
“That about covers it, yeah.”  
“Then why, exactly, are you talking to me?”  
“Look.” Peter sighs. “I know Neal, and I know this case so trust me when I say that we wouldn’t have caught the panthers the first time if it weren’t for Neal and we won’t catch them again without him.”  
“I agree.” She says, clearly waiting for Peter to continue.   
“It’s going to be hard for Neal to help us, if I have to arrest him for fraud.”  
“So.” She shrugs. “Talk to the DA, I’m sure you could cut him a deal.”  
“Yeah, probably. But given Neal’s record it’d be almost impossible to get a deal that doesn’t involve jail time. And even if I could manage it, there’s no deal that means Neal gets to keep his new life. He finally went legit, he worked hard for that, I can’t be responsible for taking that away from him.”  
“Well.” She says, curtly. “That’s a very nice sentiment agent Burke but I’m still not sure what exactly you want me to do here.”  
“Well.” Peter hesitates slightly. “When the panthers were first arrested, I was approached by a marshal, everyone involved in the investigation was. We were offered witsec, I think it’s safe to assume that Neal would’ve been too,”  
“You’re not suggesting-“  
“I am.”   
“What you’re asking me to do, Peter, no. I can’t authorise that.”  
“Well.” Peter shrugs. “If you want Neal’s help, you’ll make it work.”  
“I don’t want it badly enough to _fake_ Neal being in witsec!”   
“If you want us to carry on working together you will. No one knows this case like my team, if your superiors want any of the credit for this, and given how high profile this case is I think it’s fair to say they do then they’ll make this happen.”  
“Agent Burke-“  
“Look.” Peter sighs, he didn’t want to use this card, but he would if he had to. “This wouldn’t be the first time the marshals’ve bent the rules for Neal Caffrey. I know what they did, and more importantly I can prove it. Your bosses set this up, and we work together and catch the panthers and my team’ll let yours take the glory. They don’t, and that proof is going to find it’s way to the inbox of every news station in the city.”  
“You wouldn’t do that.”  
“ _Try me._ ”   
There’s a moment of silence as they size each other up, tension stretching between them like a rubber band, and with a metaphorical snap Katie tips her head back and laughs.   
“I like you, Peter, I really do. I’m not making any promises, but I’ll do what I can.”


End file.
